The Heart Which Makes Us
by Aki and Tenshi
Summary: It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons. Different ways Kurt could have come out to Burt. Each chapter is a different AU story. Newest chapter is a crossover with High School Musical.
1. The One Where Kurt Meets Blaine Earlier

AN 1: This is a fic of many firsts. My first Glee fic, my first slash pairing (though it is canon slash, so does that count?), my first fanfiction written in over a year (I work mostly on original stuff now days). Hope you enjoy.

AN 2: This is an AU story, although it starts before Glee season 1. The timelines in Glee are not quite clear, but I assumed that the Pilot episode started a little ways into the beginning of the school year, I am starting before then.

AN 3: Although the focus is supposed to be on Kurt and Burt, Blaine kind of just took over this chapter.

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><p>Chapter Title: The One Where Kurt Met Blaine Earlier<p>

Characters: Kurt, Blaine, Burt

Pairings: Klaine

Warnings: a few instances of swearing

Timeline: Pre-Glee/ the beginning of sophomore year pre-pilot

**The One Where Kurt Met Blaine Earlier**

Kurt had hoped—hoped— that maybe his sophomore year at McKinley would be better than his first. He was only through the first week and he had already been dumpster-tossed thrice and slushied four times. It was like the bullies were trying to make up for all the lost time over the summer. Kurt knew it was cruel to wish that torment on someone else, but he had thought maybe some freshman would be the new target of the bullies, but no such luck so far. He was just stuck out too much.

So Kurt was wallowing not with a pint of ice cream, because he did not want to see that go to his hips, but by shopping, which only hurt his wallet. Mostly his dad's wallet. Kurt had expected his father to protest when he requested use of the credit card to go shopping this weekend. He had only went on a much pleaded for shopping spree two weeks ago, before the school year began. "But I _need_ to get new school clothes," he had argued. Four of those new outfits had been slushified. It was his fault, really, wearing them the first week without testing the waters first. He had just wanted to look fabulous, but no.

Dad had handed over his credit card pretty easily this time. He was pretty stoic, like always, but there was a flash of something else on his face as well. Pity, Kurt might of thought. They never talked about it, but it was pretty obvious when all Kurt did was go to school, come home, occasionally work at the shop, and then use weekend time for solo trips to the mall to shop or see a movie. He didn't have any friends. Kurt thinks that is why his Dad gave him the Navigator for his sweet sixteen over the summer, maybe, after he had asked during a stunted dinner conversation— they didn't have much in common to talk about—if Kurt had wanted a party. Kurt just bit his lip, stared at his plate, and wanted to cry but didn't. Because the truth was that _yes_ he _had_ wanted a party. All he could think of was all the great different parties he could have planned: a garden party in the back yard with wonderful finger foods and twinkle lights swung between the branches of the trees; or a formal dinner party where everyone dressed in their finest and drank sparkling cider out of wineglasses and pretended to be sophisticated adults; or an all night musical movie marathon with plenty of pizza and gossip and makeovers included… "No," was all Kurt could mutter, his hands in tight fists on his legs under the table. There was no one to invite.

This all resulted in him having a very expensive car he could drive himself to the mall in and him standing at a rack for a good five minutes, fondling a purple and black checkered scarf as he was lost in thought.

"I would go with the teal one, personally."

Kurt dropped the scarf from his fingers and turned suddenly on spot. He expected to see a sales associate, someone in the stores uniform with one of the headsets in one ear like the store was really that important that all the employees needed to be in constant contact, like they weren't in a mall in the middle of Ohio. But rather there was a boy about Kurt's age, more surprisingly about Kurt's height—he was still waiting for that growth spurt that would give him at least a few more inches. This boy was wearing carpenter jeans and button-down brown shirt, which was simple yet somehow still amazing, and had a head full of unruly black curls.

Kurt wasn't used to guys his own age talking to him without it being an insult. He had been pegged pretty early on as _different_, as _queer,_ and guys didn't want that reputation rubbing off on them. So Kurt went into super-bitch mode, which was his default setting for the majority of his human interactions at this point.

"That's clearly turquoise. Teal is more green based… and really, this," he pinched the turquoise scarf that had been hanging next to his preferred purple one between his pointer and thumb and held it up in disgust, "is better than the color of royalty?"

This amount of attitude was usually enough to send innocent bystanders running and any bullies pretending to be friends for some kind of jokes into revealing themselves. This guy didn't do either. Rather, he chuckled, and not in the "I am totally going to throw you in a dumpster right now" way.

He closed the space between them and then was standing beside Kurt, playing with his beloved turquoise scarf on the rack. "I like it," he said, tilting his head and not looking at Kurt for a moment. "It's nice and bright." Then he turned to Kurt "Plus, it would bring out your eyes."

Kurt opened his mouth and then closed it. Was that flirting? That sounded an awful lot like flirting. What was he supposed to do? Kurt didn't know how to flirt. He never flirted in his life. All he did know how to do was stare at that Finn-character at school he had a crush on, but he had never said more than two words to him.

Luckily, whoever this guy was, decided to fill in the blank. "I'm Blaine."

"Kurt."

Blaine dropped the scarf he had been playing with. "You really like the purple better?" he asked with raised eyebrows, which Kurt was now staring at. They were strangely…triangular. Kurt would plucked and shaped the crap out of them if they were on his head, but on Blaine they looked good.

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Well, I'm not totally sold on checkers as a pattern. As a board game, sure, but a pattern…"

Blaine was chuckling again and Kurt was left pondering if he was really that funny. Was that who he was, a funny guy? He never really got to try out his caustic wit on situations where he was not verbally berating people who were like pushing lockers or such bullshittery.

"Well, if you're not," Blaine said and he tugged the purple scarf off its rack and tossed it around his shoulders, a wicked grin on his face. It looked awkward, with the plastic ring it was knotted around as a hanger and the price tag sticking out.

Kurt gasped. "You just stole my fashion advice."

"You weren't going to use it."

Kurt didn't know how it happened, but he ended up grappling with Blaine over the scarf, although always conscious not to rip it, because if he didn't respect clothes than he didn't know who he was as a human being. Somehow he ended up behind Blaine and one of his arms was twisted behind his back and one of Kurt's was over his shoulder at an odd angle.

Someone cleared their throat. Kurt and Blaine paused and looked to their left. This time it was a sales associate. It was a slim woman in her mid-twenties. She had her arms crossed over her chest. The two untangled their limbs. Blaine released his grip on the scarf. Kurt hung it up on the rack.

"Leave the store, leave the store," Blaine muttered under his breath as the two scurried quickly out of the store without making eye contact them with anyone.

"Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap," Kurt was whispering to himself as they walked away from the store.

"Yeah, sorry," said Blaine sheepishly. "You might want to avoid going in there for a few…months."

But that was not the only thing Kurt was holy crap-ing about. He was holy crap-ing over the fact that he had basically just gotten in a wrestling match with a boy – a really cute boy, Kurt really should have mentioned that first and foremost— that he didn't even know beyond a name and color preferences. The worst part is that Kurt didn't really know what that meant.

But this guy was still walking with him, apologizing about ruining his shopping trip but not seeming all that upset about it.

"You're not from Lima, are you?" Kurt asked suddenly, inadvertently cutting off Blaine. Kurt hadn't noticed him at McKinley before, but he could be a freshman or a transfer student. Only a week into a school year, Kurt couldn't have learned all the new faces yet, even if they were people he probably wouldn't ever converse with. If Blaine did go to McKinley he would know, or be quick to learn, that Kurt was at the bottom of the social heap and hanging out with him would only drag him down. And when he said bottom, he meant bottom. Down there with snakes like Jacob Ben Israel, although his gossip-mongering blog was gaining him notoriety, if not likeability.

Blaine shook his head. "I'm from Westerville. My mom drove here to meet up with some friends. They are eating at some restaurant in here. She brought me along to wonder around a mall in a teenage haze… actually, I'm supposed to be buying new gym shoes…"

Then Blaine was offering to buy Kurt a smoothie to make up for ruining his shopping trip, which sounded awful date-like to Kurt, but that couldn't be what was happening. Cute boys with curly hair and bright eyes just didn't smile like that at Kurt. He discreetly pinched himself on his side. So he wasn't dreaming, but he wasn't quite sure that this wasn't cruel prank or that this guy was going to run away soon as his senses caught up with him and ran way when he realized Kurt was…different. But things like this didn't happened to Kurt Hummel and he will be damned if he runs away from whatever this is even if he was risking giving up his hopes.

"Okay," Kurt said, and it came out a lot more vulnerable than he wanted. Everything he said was usually said behind a shield. He was half-tempted to follow up with a snarky, "It's the least you can do," with his nose turned up in the air, but then Blaine was beaming, positively beaming at him and all those words got caught somewhere in Kurt's chest.

"Let's go," Blaine said then he reached out and grabbed Kurt's hand and started pulling him along, weaving him through the crowd and the pathways and even down a flight of stairs to the smoothie kiosk. At first Kurt blanches, because he knows what he is even if he has never told anyone and this sort of PDA was something he would be destroyed for in school. But after that sudden surge of fear passed he realized that this was very, very nice…holding hands with a boy.

Blaine insisted on paying for the smoothies even as Kurt put up a mild, half-hearted protest. Kurt mentioned offhand that the girl working the smoothie kiosk looked like a young Kristen Chenoweth and doesn't expect anything from it. He doesn't really have a lot of friends at school. He gets along with that Mercedes girl who was in a couple of his classes, but she was more into R&B than Broadway and if he said something like that to his dad he would get nothing but a confused look in return.

But Blaine said: "Oh my God, I love her." And then started their giant discussion about musicals as they sipped their smoothies and wandered the mall. After they were done and ditched their foam cups in a trash bin, Kurt helped Blaine pick out new sneakers in a Footlocker, although Kurt, great taste in shoes he could brag about, wasn't the best at picking out practical shoes for a gym class.

Kurt was smiling and laughing so much his face hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed or smiled like this. Then Blaine started humming along to some pop song that was being played over the store's radio system and Kurt's falling, oh goodness he is, because he never did emotions lightly.

A ring tone chimed and Blaine slipped a phone out of his jeans pocket. He read something on the screen and said, "Oh, my mom is ready to go. She's pulling up the car. I need to meet her at the main entrance…" He glanced up under his eyelashes at Kurt. Kurt sucked his lips into his mouth. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the time for an excuse not to look at Blaine. It had been an hour and a half since they had met. Now his day dream was about to end.

"I'll walk you to the door," Kurt said, because he wanted those last moments and Blaine had made all the moves today and he wanted to reciprocate.

Blaine paid for his shoes at the cash register. They walked out of the store, being next to each other, but a reasonable distance apart. Kurt wished that Blaine would grab his hand again. As they neared the front door, Blaine looked at him out of the corner of his eyes and said, "I had a nice time today. It was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, me too."

The large, glass front doors were just a few yards away when he stopped walking and turned to Kurt. For the first time Blaine, in all his charming glory for the last hour and a half, seemed uncertain. "Do you want to maybe…exchange numbers, so, y'know," Blaine stared at the floor and shuffled his feet and Kurt just fell a little farther. He didn't think anyone had ever been nervous to ask him for something before. "We could talk about musicals and appropriate scarf colors again," Blaine finished off before glancing back up.

Kurt did an uneven nod. He really couldn't talk.

Blaine motioned at a narrow hallway that lead to the lesser used bathrooms of the mall, compared to the ones at the food court. Kurt followed just into the mouth of it. He wasn't sure why they were there, maybe to get out of the walk way. They exchanged phones and typed in their names and numbers. They gave their phones back and each tucked them in their jeans pockets. They stood their awkwardly for a moment. Kurt was about to initiate goodbyes when Blaine leaned forward and kissed him. It was nothing crazy, no wandering hands or tongue, just lips pressed against lips, but Kurt's brain still went fuzzy.

A moment later Blaine had pulled back and Kurt was kind of gapping, like a fish, and it probably wasn't very attractive, but, hell, he just got kissed and…

"What?" Kurt managed to stuttered out.

Blaine looked uncertain again, and even more, a little scared. "You—I mean, I thought…you're gay, right?"

Kurt gulped and his hands curled into fists at his sides, his nails cutting into his palms. He glanced to either side, lowered his voice, he said, "I've never told anyone before."

"Oh," Blaine said and he looked like he wanted to say more, but then his phone rang again. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. He looked back up at Kurt. "My mom is wondering where I am." He looked apologetic as he said it.

"Okay," Kurt said in a breathy voice. Why couldn't he breathe properly at the moment?

"I wasn't lying before. I do want to talk to you again."

"I hope you do," Kurt said and he didn't know where that came from, because, yeah, he meant it, but he wasn't really forming coherent thoughts at the moment. He could feel himself smiling.

Blaine was smiling too and Kurt's hearting was banging in his chest.

"Cool… I'll call you tonight, but," he glanced off to the side, "but I really do have to go now."

Kurt nodded. They said some awkward goodbyes and Kurt watched after Blaine as he walked out the front entrance, slumped against the wall. He stayed there for about five minutes after Blaine was gone, body feeling like jelly.

Kurt didn't want to do any more shopping. This was surprising for Kurt. He loved shopping and hadn't even bought anything today. But, of course, he remembered he had come out shopping to make himself feel better and he had never felt better than right now. He had been _kissed_, by a really cute boy who liked musicals and who liked him. He had sort of come out to someone for the first time. He hadn't actually said the words "I'm gay," but he had answered affirmative to the question.

Kurt suddenly felt like squee-ing and jumping up and down, but he was in public, so that really wouldn't work. Next thing he knew he was in his car and starting on his ride home. He was about halfway home when he had to pull over to the side of the road. Once he had set his parking break, he screamed in the pure joy and did a little dance in his seat as best he could. After he was supplicated, he finished his drive home.

When he walked in the front door, his dad was on the couch watching some football game on the television.

"How was your trip?" he asked absently.

"Fine," Kurt said. He slipped his dad's unused credit card on the endtable without a word and went down to his basement bedroom.

Blaine called around 9:30. Kurt was already in his pajamas because he had no plans after his dinner with his father. So all he did was curl up on his bed and hold his cell phone to his ear and smile until it felt like his face was ready to crack off. They ended up talking about music and singing and how Blaine could play like five instruments…and oh my god, could this guy be any more perfect except for the liking Katy Perry more than Lady Gaga, but he could deal with that.

They made plans to meet up next weekend and shot texts back and forth throughout the week. Kurt was walking on clouds. It was enough to get him through another miserable week of dumpster tosses, locker shoves, no friends, and not being quite sure how to talk to his father.

"It's like," Blaine said, pressing his hands to his chest and then lifting them up to a touchdown position.

Kurt nodded, leaning forward slightly over the table. It seemed weird to be having this conversation in the middle of the food court in the mall, but they were tucked away in a two person table in the corner and no one was near them. It was still fairly early and there weren't many lunch-goers yet.

"I mean, I have only come out to my brother, my mom, and this friend at school who's also gay, but coming out is amazing. Just to say it out loud, just to tell someone… and I know once it gets out at school there are going to be some people who are jerks about and my dad is kind of old-fashioned, so he is probably going to take it a little hard, but…" Blaine shrugged. "I don't know. I just can't not be who I am."

"That's amazing," Kurt said and he meant it. He would love to be able to be out and proud. To tell his dad. But Kurt didn't have a little brother or a mom. He just had is dad, and if he didn't accept Kurt, it would be all over. It would break him. He was just too scared.

"So what about you?" asked Blaine, cocking his head to the side. "Am I really the only person you've told?"

Kurt took a sip of his coffee and nodded.

"So, are you thinking of…never mind. I don't want to sound like I am pressuring you, I know it is really hard and personal."

"No," Kurt said suddenly, "It's fine… I guess I think about it every day. I've just never been able to work up the nerve." His voice waivered at the end there and he stared at the table, because Kurt didn't like looking weak in front of other people. It was why he was ready with sarcastic comments for the bullies at school. But it really wasn't too bad now, when it ended with Blaine reaching across the table to grab his.

"It's okay," Blaine said. Kurt looked up and their eyes met. He couldn't look away and neither of them did for a good minute.

Kurt finally broke the moment looking away. "What is this?"

"What's what?"

Kurt stared pointedly at their conjoined hands on the table top and Blaine seemed to get it. Kurt added anyway, "And last week, you kissed me… What does that mean?"

"I like you." Kurt shifted in his seat, but Blaine continued on without hesitation, "I've just come out. I'm finally allowing myself to like boys, hold hands with boys, to kiss boys… to date boys."

Kurt's head jerked up at that. "Are you serious?"

Blaine's face was tinged pink now and Kurt was glad that he wasn't the only person navigating the waters of, well, high school romance, for the first time and rather awkwardly. "If you want to…"

"Sounds good," Kurt responded, and both of their faces were red and neither of them could look at each other, but they didn't pull their hands apart.

There was a sign-up sheet for Glee Club on the bulletin board. That creep Mr. Ryerson got fired, so Kurt thought that it may be a decent club to get involved in now and he liked singing, so he signed up. It was taught by Mr. Schue, and other than his questionable taste in sweater vests and his obliviousness of walking past dumpstering, he seemed to be a pretty decent guy. There were only five members at first. Artie, who was in Kurt's science and history classes. They weren't really friends, but they got paired up a lot for group projects and got along amicably. There was also Tina, who Kurt had previously labeled in his head as the goth Asian chick. He had never heard her talk before so when she opened her mouth and stuttered, Kurt was a little surprised and a little not. Mercedes was another who he wasn't close to but got along with in classes. She had some real potential when it came to clothes, but Kurt would have help her with refining her taste. Lastly was Rachel Berry, who everyone in the school, including him, knew whether they wanted to or not. She very loud, a walking fashion disaster, a total diva, and damn talented. They were all talented, to Kurt's pleasant surprise. He had always gotten an Aretha vibe from Mercedes and had heard Rachel before in the previous failed incarnations of the glee club, but quiet Tina and nerdie Artie were out of nowhere.

Then, later that week, something sort of impossible happened and Finn Hudson, quarterback of the football team, had joined glee. He was a good singer, still very cute, if a bit dunce, and Kurt realized that in another lifetime, one where Blaine hadn't magically appeared the first weekend into the school year, this probably would have been something Kurt was really excited about… to have his crush so close. They only shared one class, in which Finn sat surrounded by other football players that Kurt wouldn't go anywhere near. Kurt was in mostly accelerated classes and Finn, well, wasn't. It was a good thing on many levels, because now that he was not blinded by infatuation he could see how straight Finn was. It had also taught him not to through around the word _love_ lightly. What he had for Finn was never love, just infatuation. But with Blaine…Kurt thinks he might just be falling in love.

He talked to Blaine about glee club, which was slowly turning out to be cooler and more fun than he thought it would be. And suddenly there are cheerleaders and football players joining left and right, which was weird, but okay. He really liked it though. He was making friends. People he could sit with at lunch and hang out with after school sometimes. Mercedes was all kinds of awesome…except for that time she had a crush on him. She ended up being the only other person he told he was gay. Good thing, because she looked about ready to break his windshield. He hadn't told her about Blaine though. He was Kurt's secret.

"I wish there was something like that I my school," Blaine lamented. Blaine's school was showchoir free. He was in band though. It was not the first time that Kurt heard Blaine say something like that, but there was currently a certain edge to is voice that is off.

"Is everything okay?" he asked Blaine, clutching his phone closer to his ear like that could somehow bring him closer to his boyfriend. Squee…boyfriend. After dating for a few weeks they had decided on that label.

Blaine sighed into the phone and it came across as a bunch of static. "You know my whole…gay thing…got out and is now common knowledge among the student population…"

"Yeah, those things tend to travel…"

"I just— I just didn't think people would be this bad. This is supposed to be the twenty-first century, y'know?" He sounded too sad and Kurt wanted nothing more than to hug him, but unfortunately he was a two hour drive away.

"I know. I'm sorry," Kurt said, exuding as much sympathy as he could with just his voice. He did know, to some extent. He wasn't out, but he was different and most people assumed he was anyway that he got a lot of similar bullying treatment. Blaine knew that. They had talked about the unfairness of high school life not long ago.

"Knowing I'm going to be seeing you this weekend is the only thing getting me through this week," Blaine said and Kurt couldn't fight the grin that crept onto his face. It was hard with Blaine living so far away. But at least he always had weekend plans, otherwise he would probably being planning how to remake Beyonce music videos. He had peculiar ideas when he was bored. Actually, that wasn't a peculiar idea at all. He could wear sequins. And maybe ask a couple of the girls from glee if they wanted to be his back up dancers... Kurt shook his head. It would have been a great Saturday activity if it wasn't for Blaine. And damn, Kurt was glad about Blaine.

It was Thursday night, meaning Kurt only had to suffer through one more day of school before he got to see Blaine again, and he lounged on the couch watching Project Runway. Dad came in. He was in his pajama pants and a t-shirt, which meant he probably just got out of the shower. He sat down on the opposite side of the couch and didn't try to reach for the remote. The father and son basically had nothing on television that they both enjoyed watching so they got used to trying not to complain and working around each other's schedules. This way Burt got to see his football and baseball games as well as the Deadliest Catch and Ice Road Truckers and Kurt got his award shows, primetime television dramas, Project Runway, and America's Next Top Model.

Burt waited for a commercial before speaking up. "You going out again this weekend?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Kurt, glancing from the screen to his dad. "Is that a problem?"

"No, no," Burt said quickly. "It's nice to see you hanging out with friends. "

Kurt felt a twinge of guilt at that. He had been lying to his father about his weekend outings. He was always with Blaine, but said he was hanging out with Mercedes or Tina. He did hang out with them, and even Brittany once, which was weird, because he hadn't invited her. She was a rather odd girl, but Kurt was surprised to learn that she wasn't mean. She just hung out with a bunch of mean Cheerios. Get her away from Quinn and Santana and she was rather sweet if incredibly dim. Regardless, he never hung out with any of them on Saturday. That was his day with Blaine. And Kurt just told Mercedes and Tina, and sometimes Brittany, that Saturday was his family dad with his dad and it all worked out.

"Yeah," Kurt said.

"And with that, ahhh, singing club at school you seem…happier."

Kurt nodded. Something was stuck in his throat. Glee club was great, but that was not the only reason Kurt was happier nowadays.

Burt shifted in his seat, glanced at the television screen to make sure the commercials were still rolling, and continued after clearing his throat. "You can really, y'know, be yourself."

His dad had emphasized that last part oddly and then paused afterwards in a way Kurt thought he was supposed to interpret as significant, but for the life of him he didn't know what the man was trying to be significant about.

The supposedly significant silence continued.

"O-kay," Kurt said slowly.

Burt shifted on the cushion again and left out an exasperated sigh through his nose. Instead of looking at Kurt, he stared at a spot on the carpet halfway across the floor. "Look, what I am trying to say is that you're in high school now. You're growing up. Things start changing and…stuff. So, I'm saying…I'm saying that you can talk to me."

Kurt was staring, wide-eyed, at the side of his dad's head. This was the most meaningful conversation they had in a while, even if one-sided and Kurt was still clueless to what brought it on and what it was all about. Burt stood and walked around the back of the couch. As he passed Kurt, he ruffled his hair. Kurt would usually complain about anyone touching his hair. That one time Brittany was over she had wanted to braid it and Mercedes and Tina thought that just because he was allowed to style their hair in makeovers that they were allowed to style his, that was, until he set them straight. But the motion had been so absently affectionate that Kurt kept his lips sealed.

It was after his and his dad's Friday Night Dinner, around eight when Blaine called. Kurt had been expecting him to call, but he hadn't been expecting him to be near tears. Apparently Blaine had been using his mother's car – Blaine did not have his own despite coming from a wealthy family, it was supposed to be character building to save up money to buy his own or something— to run some errands for her and it had been vandalized with spray-painted gay slurs and four slashed tires. That was horrible enough. Before this the bullying hadn't really left school grounds and hadn't affected his family's life.

But worse was Blaine's dad. "He's such an ass," Blaine said. He sounded angry, but Kurt also heard him sniffling. "He's acting like it is my fault. My fault for being his _fag_ son."

Blaine spat out that word like venom and Kurt flinched, even over the phone, even though it was not directed at him.

"Don't say that," Kurt said first and then a sense of horror dawned over him. "He didn't say that did he?"

"No…he didn't have to."

Then Blaine was choking up again. And it is horrible because Blaine had been Kurt's rock, an inspiration, all out and proud and amazing. Now he is crying over the phone about his un-accepting father, the cruelty of his peers and of the world, and how now, with a car down and his stubborn father, that he wouldn't even be able to come and see Kurt tomorrow. "And, God, I really need to see you right now."

Kurt didn't even need to think about what he said next. He knew he would be breaking about five different rules and his dad's trust. But he needed to do this. Sometimes the right thing was against the rules. "I can come to you."

"Tomorrow?"

"No, now."

"Kurt, it's like a two hour drive and already late."

"But you need me."

"…I do."

"Then I'll be there."

Kurt crept out silently out of his basement bedroom, keys already tucked into his jeans pocket in order to keep them from jingling. Dad was asleep on the couch. It was only nine-thirty, but he worked hard all week and tended to fall asleep early. He would wake up a few hours later and if Kurt turned out his light and closed the door, he wouldn't disturb him. He went out the backdoor, where it would be easier to close and lock the door without waking up his father, although he slept like the dead. He would have to if Kurt was to get away with starting his giant Navigator right by the side of the house.

When it was one and half hours later, Kurt pulled onto one of the side roads of the park where the two had agreed to meet. He made the drive faster than expected for the low traffic and high urgency. Blaine was standing there, alone, in the dark, arms crossed defensively over his chest and shoulders shrugged up. He looked shrunken. Kurt hopped out of his seat and didn't bother to close the car door after himself. He was too concerned with closing the distance between him and his boyfriend.

Next thing he knew, Blaine was latched onto him, arms tightly cinched around him in a hug, chin resting on his shoulder. Kurt wrapped his arms around him back and squeezed him tightly. He didn't even realize when he started mumbling "It's okay" and "it's going to be alright" over and over again in a litany that didn't really mean anything, because it definitely wasn't okay and he had no way of knowing or promising that the course of events would turn out alright. But he said because he wanted it to be true and Blaine needed to hear it and wasn't that what people were supposed to say in circumstances like this.

After the very long moment of them clinging together, Blaine eased up his hold and Kurt took his clue. He stepped back, but not far. Blaine's hands were still on Kurt's upper arms and somehow Kurt's hands were resting on Blaine's waist.

"Thanks for coming," Blaine said. His voice was hoarse. Kurt realized it was probably from crying.

Kurt nodded. "It's cold. Let's get in the car."

The two got into the back seat of Kurt's car where they could be closer on the bench seat than in the front. They sat hip-to-hip and were holding hands, fingers intertwined, and they talked some more. They whispered, even though no one was around. After a while, there were no more words.

Blaine leaned forward, closing the few inches of space between them, and pressed his lips against Kurt's. Kurt pretended he didn't taste Blaine's tears.

Kissing wasn't new, but this type of kiss was. It was desperate and heavy and passionate, and not quite so sweet or chaste as the others shared had been. They were both only sophomores in high school and neither had dated before and they were used to the world telling them that what they felt was wrong. They had been taking slow. This wasn't slow; this was charged.

The kiss became open-mouthed and tongue was involved. It was sloppy and awkward, because this was new, but neither paused. Their hands began to wander, nowhere dangerous and completely over clothes, but more than they ever had before. Over chests, up arms, down backs, and fingers racking through hair. They shifted in position and Kurt was sitting leaned back against the side door with Blaine's hand cupped around the back of his neck.

He kissed Kurt on the mouth, then the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then his neck. This was definitely new. There were even teeth involved and Kurt gasped when he felt them, but it wasn't a bad gasp.

After a moment Blaine stopped and collapsed against Kurt, his forehead in the nook of Kurt's neck. Kurt could feel Blaine's warm breath on his skin and feel his heart beating in his chest. They stayed there, like that, just breathing together, and somehow this was more intimate than anything they had just done.

"Thank you for coming, Kurt," Blaine said for about the dozen-th time that night. Kurt nodded. There was a silence and then Blaine continued. "I'm so glad I met you. I can't imagine going through this alone."

It was well after three in the morning by the time Kurt was back in Lima and parking in his driveway. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. It was weird, though, even with how bad things were, Blaine being bullied and Kurt in the closet, Kurt had realized something on the way home. He loved Blaine. He loved him and he wanted him to be happy more than anything. It was a bittersweet realization, because for how genuine Kurt s feelings were, he had very little ability to help Blaine in his current situation, except to be a shoulder to cry on.

Kurt was careful to unlock the door quietly, even if he did expect that his dad would already be upstairs, in bed, asleep, very much where Kurt wanted to be. He was too tired and too placated to really think it weird that the lights in the living room where still obviously on through the front windows when dad always turned them off before going up to bed.

Kurt took care to lock the front door behind him even as his eyelids were dropping. He sighed and dropped his forehead against the wood of the door.  
>A throat was cleared behind him and then a voice said, "Kurt."<p>

He jolted in shock and turned around swiftly to see his dad standing there, looking none too pleased. Kurt gulped.

"Dad," he said, being tired now the last thing on his mind.

Neither said anything for a while.

"I can't believe you, Kurt," Burt finally said. He wasn't yelling, but he didn't have to be for Kurt to have his heart beating so haggardly and nervously. "It's almost four in the morning! You snuck out to do God knows what. Without a note or answering your cell phone, so I didn't even know if you were alive."

At that Kurt patted his pants pockets, realizing that his cell phone must have fallen out of his pocket in his car sometime during the trip. He always almost left it on vibrate, a habit of not getting caught with it at school. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for his dad to wake up with his son missing, his son's car missing, and his son not answering his cell. He felt guilty.

"Plus, you're still on your provisional license. You're not allowed to drive after midnight. You broke the law!"

"I'm sorry, Dad," Kurt said. He felt like he was ready to cry, although he forced himself to hold back. Blaine's life was a mess at the moment and now Burt was upset with him and Kurt couldn't even tell him the truth. Or at least, not most of it. "I'm really, really sorry, but…" He bit his lip before considering saying the next part. If his dad questioned for specifics Kurt would be forced to lie or tell the whole truth, and Kurt didn't want to do either. "I had a friend who was having a crisis and they needed me for emotional support."

"Who?" Dad asked first, crossing his arms, "That Mercedes girl? And why couldn't wake me up to tell me that? Do you think I wouldn't have understood?"

Kurt looked at his feet because he couldn't stand looking at his father then. He picked at the hem of his jacket. He wasn't ready for this conversation yet. "Not Mercedes. And I wasn't thinking."

"You right you weren't thinking," his dad supplied. It was such a parent-y thing to say. "Because the Kurt I know would have never pulled a stunt like this."

"I'm sorry," Kurt said again and it came out in a whisper.

Burt sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "Okay, um, let's go to bed now. We'll continue this conversation once we've both had some sleep and it's daylight out."

Kurt nodded, it was a temporary reprieve at best, but one he would take advantage. He turned towards the coat racket and shrugged off his jacket. Then dad said,

"Is that a hickey?"

Kurt's eyes widened in horror as he slapped his hand over the place on his neck were Blaine had been… Oh, Gaga, his first hickey. Under any circumstances it would have been embarrassing and awkward for his father to see it, but in these circumstances it was more like mildly horrifying.

"Ummm," was all Kurt could manage to stutter out.

"Wait, wait, wait," said Burt, starting to pace, busying his hands with adjusting his cap, by the bill, on his head. "You were out getting…hickeys, and you just lied to me about what you were doing."

"It wasn't a lie. My friend really needed help, and I had to go all the way to Westerville—"

"You drove all the way to Westerville and back this late at night! I thought you were in town at least— "

Kurt winced. He had just added one more tick mark to the list of his deviances tonight by supplying that little detail.

"But that's not the point," Burt said, continuing his rant and his pacing. "The point is that you snuck out, drove to Westerville," it seems he really wasn't over that detail, "To go, I don't know, see some guy," he waved a hand distractedly in the air, "and then didn't get back until four in the morning, and then lied about it."

"I'm not lying!" Kurt yelled back, and then paused and rewound what his dad just said. His dad just said something about him seeing a guy. His mind went from hickey to a boy causing them. And he didn't seem to care. It had been said so offhand amongst Kurt's other offenses.

Kurt must have looked stunned or been wearing some odd expression, because his dad noticed, stopped pacing and asked, "Wha—" and realization dawned on him as recalled his words, and said, "Oh."

"You—you know?"

Burt shrugged. "Since you were three. For your birthday you asked for sensible heals."

Kurt nodded. This is not how he had expected his conversation to go. He had expected more shouting or name-calling or being thrown out of the house. He had severely underestimated his father.

"And," Kurt said, testing the water, "You're okay with…it?" He decided that _it_ wasn't strong enough and clarified, "With me…being gay?"

"It's my job to love you no matter what, Kurt. I don't understand it. It's not what I expected when you born, but if it's who you are, it doesn't matter. You're still my kid."

Kurt nodded and bit his bottom lip to try and keep from crying. "Really?"

"Yeah. What else I am supposed to do."

Kurt really should have done something, like hugged his dad. Neither made a move, even as this profound moment in their relationship just occurred, they still stood on opposite sides of the room.

Burt hmmed and looked at his wristwatch. "I really don't think either of us is going to get a good night's sleep tonight. Now, Kurt, you say you weren't lying, so I want you to give you this chance to tell me the truth of what happened."

"Okay."

"Why don't we sit down," Burt said with a nod towards the couches. They took seats on opposite ends of a couch.

"I really was helping a friend," Kurt paused, "My boyfriend."

"He's not like nineteen and rides a motorcycle?" asked Burt.

Kurt almost smiled at the odd concern. "No, he's my age."

Burt gave him a look.

"And he doesn't ride a motorcycle."

Kurt explained what happened. How his boyfriend had called him, upset over the vandalism and his distant father – Burt's fist tightened on the armrest at that. How Kurt had been the one to suggest the late night trip. And how things— and both of their faces were red with embarrassment – had gotten a little heated, but they weren't doing anything more than kissing, and they wouldn't be for a long time, so "Dad, please can we not have _that_ conversation right now."

"So, this boy…"

"Blaine," Kurt supplied.

"Blaine," Burt said, testing it out, "he's good to you?"

"He's amazing, dad. A complete gentleman, I swear."

"You know I'm going to have to meet him, right?" Burt said.

Kurt hadn't thought about that honestly. Of course, he was so used to hiding Blaine from his dad that it wasn't really he had considered before, but it was normal, really, for a boyfriend to meet your parents.

"We could have him over for our next Friday night dinner, that is, if I'm not grounded…" It was a coy, leading question.

Burt responded: "We'll talk about it after we sleep." Kurt knew that meant he was getting off easy, and that was a cue for it being time for them to go to bed.

Both stood, Kurt making the way towards the door to his basement bedroom and Burt towards the steps that when upstairs.

"Kurt," Burt called to him and the boy stopped with his hand on the doorknob and twisted halfway around. "One more question… how long?"

"I met him after my first week of school."

"And you didn't tell me…?" It could have been statement but for the look on Burt's face.

"That's two questions, Dad."

"Kurt."

"… I was scared."

"Kurt, you never have to be scared to come to me about anything. You know that, right? "

"I do now."


	2. The One Where Kurt Doesnt Come Home

Chapter Title: The One Where Kurt Doesn't Come Home From School

Characters: Burt, Kurt, minor OC

Pairings: None

Warnings: Implied violence

Timeline: Pre-Glee/ Freshman Year

**The One Where Kurt Doesn't Come Home From School**

It had been routine since Kurt started middle school. Kurt would take the school bus home and call Burt at the shop to tell him he was there safe. It was a change from elementary school, when Burt would stop work, go pick his son up, and let Kurt do this homework in the shop's office until the end of the day. Now Kurt was a freshman in high school, only a month in, and after three years of good rehearsals, Burt trusted him to check in and take care of himself.

When the call didn't come by 4:15, Burt was worried. Kurt was usually home by four. But Burt didn't react. The bus could be running late or Kurt may have gone straight into the shower, briefly forgetting to phone. That had happened once or twice before. Burt returned to a routine oil change and let his mind wander. Then it was 4:30.

Burt yelled out to Jay, who was working at the front of the shop, closer to the phone. "Any calls?"

Jay looked up from an open engine. "No, boss."

Burt frowned. This was too late. He went into his office and shut the door to keep out the sounds of clanking and power tools.

Burt went to stand behind his desk. He picked up the receiver and punched in the phone number. The phone rang until it went to the answering machine. He listened to Kurt's perky message and if Burt hadn't known better he would have assumed it was a girl talking. Most who didn't know Kurt would. "You've reached the Hummel residence. We're too busy being fabulous to talk to you right now. Leave a message after the tone. You'll get back to you when we feel like it."

"Kurt," Burt said tersely into the phone as the answering machine began to recording. "It's late. Pick up… Call me when you get this."

Burt hung up and sat down in his office chair. He drummed his fingers on the desk. A minute passed. He dialed the house again. No answer. He dialed Kurt's cell. The kid had made it into a fashion accessory since he had been gifted for his birthday over the summer. He always had it on him. Teenagers today.

The call went straight to voicemail. Burt hung up without leaving a message. Kurt wasn't the type to let his phone run out of battery and he always left it on. Something was wrong.

"Hey, Jay," Burt said after he exited the office. "I'm going to check on Kurt. You're in charge."

Jay gave a small salute and kept on working. Reliable was one thing that guy was.

It may have been the fastest Burt had ever made it back home while following all traffic laws.

"Kurt," Burt called out when he stepped in the front door.

No response. He glanced about as he walked to the door that led to Kurt's bedroom. The living room, kitchen, and dining room were empty. The bathroom door was open and the light was off, so he wasn't there.

Burt wrapped his knuckles the door as more of an ingrained courtesy, for he didn't wait for a response before opening it and tromping down. Kurt wasn't here either. Burt turned around and ran up two separate sets of staircases to check the one last place Kurt could be, but was least likely to be—upstairs. He didn't have a room up there. Had no reason to be up there, but Burt could hope for the simple answer. He wanted so badly for Kurt to be home and safe.

But Kurt wasn't home. Burt's heart was pounding hard and urgently in his chest, like a jackhammer. The next thing he knew, he was in his car, tracing the path to the school. Or was the last place he knew Kurt had been. He saw him get on the bus this morning.

The he had his cell phone out and was calling the garage.

"Hummel Tire and Lube," droned Jay after two excruciating rings.

"Jay, it's Burt. Kurt's missing."

He could just make out the school building a few blocks away.

"Shit. What do you want me to do?"

Burt them realized he didn't call Jay because he needed anything of him. He called because he was the only person who he had to call. That was a suddenly sad thought, to know there was only one person, really, who was around to care even inkling as much as Burt did in this circumstance. Burt didn't even see Jay outside of work, but he had been the most long-lived of his employees. Some sort of camaraderie had formed there.

"Just— if he shows up or calls there, call me."

"You got it. And when you find him, call me. Otherwise I'll worry all night."

If he had been in arm's reach, Burt would have hugged Jay for not saying _if_. The tires of his truck squealed as he pulled too sharply into the school parking lot. It was empty. He looped around, regardless of the parking lines. If Kurt wasn't here, Burt wasn't sure where he would be. The mall? But how would he have gotten there? Should Burt call the police? Should he have done that already? Or were you supposed to wait twenty-four hours or something? He thought he heard that on a cop show once.

It was what— Burt glanced at his car clock— five o'clock now. The sports fields were vacated. He stopped his truck.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that," Burt muttered, distracted, as a response. Where else to go? He tugged off his cap and rubbed his balding head.

"Burt?" asked Jay over the phone.

"I—" Burt started, but then he glanced up into his rear view mirror to the see the side of a dumpster and a silhouette of a person slumped back against it, sitting on the asphalt.

Burt's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't make out the fine details, but he knew who it was.

"I think I found him. Bye." He ended the call and tossed his cell phone to the floor of the car without eve listening for Jay's response.

He wrenched the car door open and ran over behind the dumpster, every step confirming the best and worst of his suspicions. He had found Kurt, but…

He was hurt.

Kurt was sitting back against the dumpster, legs sprawled out before him. He had one arm clutched to his chest with the other. From this side Burt could see Kurt had a split lip and the beginning of a shiner.

Burt had paused when he reached the edge of the dumpster. Kurt hadn't reacted to him yet. He was staring straight ahead at nothing.

"Kurt," Burt said, and his son flinched. "Kurt," Burt repeated and the boy swiveled his head to look where the voice was coming from.

Blood. There was blood, not a lot, really, just a trickle running down from Kurt's eyebrow, but it made Burt's blood boil. Some had made his son bleed.

"Dad?" Kurt said, and that single word was trembling and hopeful and scared. Burt wanted nothing more than to pull his son into a tight hug, but he was aware that would probably cause Kurt more pain. So, instead, he just dropped to his knees next to Kurt and cupped his face in his hands. He used his thumb to wipe away at the trail of blood running down the side of his face.

"Oh, Kurt," Burt said. "It's okay now. I'm here.

Kurt nodded jerkily. His whole body trembling, probably from shock.

"Can you stand? My truck is right here. We just need to get you in and then we'll go to the hospital."

Kurt nodded again and Kurt let go of his face to walk around to his other side where his good arm was. He kneeled down, manipulated Kurt's good arm over his shoulder and hauled him up to his feet.

"My stuff," Kurt said quietly as they only made it two steps away—for which Burt already noticed Kurt was favoring one leg.

Burt took a mount to look around. He had been so zeroed in on Kurt before. His satchel lay on the ground, open, a few feet away. There were books and paper and folders scattered around between. Kurt's cell was on the asphalt next to where he had been sitting. The screen was cracked. Burt imagined the damage was more extensive than that.

"Truck first," Burt said, "Then I'll come back and get it."

It took longer to get to his truck than it should have. When he got there he decided to just lift Kurt into his seat. The boy was still small enough and Burt could not even entertain the idea of watching Kurt struggled to climb up into the big vehicle. Burt then buckled him in and closed the door.

He jogged back to quickly collect Kurt's things, haphazardly stuffing them into Kurt's recovered bag.

Not long later they were on the way to the hospital. Burt kept glancing out of the corner of his eyes at his son when he could spare them from the road. Kurt was silent, so much that it didn't even seem like he was breathing except for the movement of his chest. One arm was still being held protectively—Burt was worried about what that meant. His head was rested on the glass of his window and he was staring resolutely out, and resolutely not at his father. Burt could only imagine what he was feeling: hurt, fear, humiliation. He was only fourteen and so, so small.

How could anyone do that to him?

The ride was altogether too long and too short. Burt had wanted to say something, anything, but he could find no words. Then they were at the hospital, it wasn't too busy, and they were admitted fairly fast.

A broken arm, sprained ankle, two stitches for the cut above his eyes, two bruised ribs, and the all the bruises on the surface. Burt had been rather shocked and horrified to see how black and blue Kurt had been under his shirt. It was nighttime once Kurt was done getting patched up and the father and son finally had a moment to themselves.

Burt scooted the plastic chair he was sitting on in the corner to in front of where Kurt was sitting on the exam table. Kurt was overly fascinated with the wall.

"Kurt."

He didn't respond.

"Kurt," Burt repeated, with a more commanding edge. Kurt turned to him and blinked.

It was an odd position to be in, with Kurt so much higher than Burt. Burt wasn't used to looking up to his son. Kurt probably needed this small display of power for himself at this point.

"What happened?"

Burt saw Kurt's Adam 's apple bob up and down.

"There were these guys. They cornered me after school," Kurt started, his voice uncharacteristically raspy.

"Who?" Burt interrupted. He needed to know who had hurt his kid and…and…he had all kinds of violent thoughts.

"I don't know their names. They were students. Seniors, I think. Two of them were wearing letterman jackets." Kurt reached up and touched the bandage over his new stitches with his unbroken arm. "One had a class ring on."  
>"How many?"<p>

"Five," Kurt answered quickly. He knew this fact that well. "But one of them didn't do anything. Just watched— and jeered." Kurt dropped his eyes. "I hated him the most," he whispered, and Burt supposed it was not meant for him.

"Why?" Burt asked. He kind of knew, had an inkling, a suspicion. It wasn't just a question for Kurt, but one he was proposing to the universe. Why? Why would anyone do this to his son, who was a bit snippy and sarcastic, sure, but had never hurt a fly? His son, who was just trying to be himself.

"Kurt's lips tightened in a thin line and he ducked his head. "B—because I'm different," he squeaked out. There was a pause, then, "Because I'm—" Kurt sniffled and Burt saw that his eyes were squeezed shut tight and tears had begun flowing down his cheeks.

Burt knew what Kurt was going to say. Had been anticipating this day for a while now.

"I'm gay."

Burt stared at the boy for a moment, processing. This revelation wasn't a surprise. But his son, who had so stoically dealt with being beaten by five guys probably twice his size or more was here sobbing because he had to tell his dad he was gay.

And did that make him feel like a piece of shit.

The plastic chair clattered backwards as Burt stood up. He wrapped his arms around his son and tugged him close.

"I love you," Burt said first, because that was the most important. "I love you." Then, "It's okay. It's okay."

Kurt seemed to be calming down, but Burt didn't let go. Kurt's body was shuddering every few moments and Burt realized the boy had given himself hiccups for the sobs.

There were a lot of things that weren't okay: the world and how it treated people like Kurt; his son, who had been beaten up for being gay and who had been crying his eyes for fearing to tell his dad the same fact.

Kurt pulled back eventually and Burt released him, but still kept one hand on his shoulder.

Kurt looked up at him with his wide, blue eyes— like his mother's— that were still damp and said, "Thank you."

"You shouldn't have to thank me, Kurt." It was another thing not okay with the world.

Kurt didn't respond. There were a lot of other problems not resolved that evening, like medications and doctor's visits, legal action and whether Kurt should even go back to that school, and how many outfits' aesthetic were ruined with an arm cast, but one thing was okay. It was a father and a son in a hospital finally connected for the first time in years.


	3. The One Where Burt is Dead

AN: You are probably looking at this chapter title and thinking, how can Kurt come out to Burt if he is dead? My answer is Just Read The Chapter! Also, on my characterization of Kurts mom…I wanted to make her just an awkward and unsure of a single parent as Burt was, but in a different way.

Chapter Title: The One Where Burt is Dead

Characters: Kurt, Burt, Mrs. Hummel

Pairings: Mr. & Mrs. Hummel

Warnings: Character Death

Timeline: Season 1

**The One Where Burt is Dead**

Elizabeth Hummel didn't know much about death except that it was sudden and cruel and apparently had a twisted sense of humor. It should have been her in that car. It would have been, if Burt hadn't stopped her as she was putting on her coat to offer to run to the supermarket for her to pick up some milk. She had a touch of a cold. Nothing incapacitating. More annoying than anything else, having to blow her nose all the time and Burt, under all that flannel and engine grease, was a gentleman. Was. Damn.

He never got the milk. The road had been slick from a drizzle, there had been a drunk driver, and Burt had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It had been quick, the doctors had said, painless. He hadn't lingered. It was supposed to be a form of comfort.

But it wasn't comforting to be under the quilt in bed and still feel so cold for the lack of body you were used to having next to you. Like she was now. Awake past midnight, the lamp on her bedside table casting a faint glow over the room that seemed gloomy rather than welcoming with the way it casted long shadows and didn't reach the far corners. She hadn't been sleeping well. She usually passed out around three or four, but until then insomnia had her.

She was feeling too much to sleep. It was like she was getting stabbed in the heart every moment of the day. It had been a week since the funeral, a few days longer since the accident that had claimed his life. Elizabeth knew that she would never be whole again.

Her door creaked open a couple of inches. Elizabeth could just make out the shadow of a small boy peering in the gap. Elizabeth waited a moment to see what he was going to do, come in or leave. Sometimes he just liked to check that she was still there, that she hadn't disappeared, that she hadn't died too. It was heartbreaking to witness. During the day Kurt rarely ever was in a different room than her. But Kurt wasn't coming or going, but standing.

"Kay," she said, using a nickname she had derived and only she used. 'Burt' and 'Kurt' sounded so similar that when she would call for one she would end up with both, or neither, or the wrong one. _That won't be a problem anymore,_ a stray through crawled through her head. It was like a sucker punch to the gut. "You can come in."

The shadow was still for a little while longer, then the door creaked open all the way and the boy shuffled partway into the room. He blinked up at her. "Can I sleep with you tonight?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Burt and Elizabeth had spent all last year trying to break Kurt of the bad habit their son had had of wanting to join them in bed anytime he woke up in the middle of the night, be it for a nightmare, a thunderstorm, or even if he was just thirsty. It had worked too. But the circumstances here were completely different. And Elizabeth didn't want to be alone tonight either.

She patted the mattress next to her and Kurt took that as an indication. He quickly scrambled forward and onto the bed as Elizabeth pulled back the covers for him. Even though he had a whole half of the bed empty for him, he snuggled up against his mother. She tucked the quilt around him and then leaned over towards her bedside table to turn off her lamp. Even if she couldn't sleep, Kurt should be.

In the dark, she reached over and brushed his bangs off his forehead. They were silent. She could feel his heartbeat and his breathing, and those simple indications of life were enough to make Elizabeth's eyes start to water. She blinked several times fast, trying to disperse the tears forming in her eyes. She hadn't cried much in front of Kurt since Burt died. It was killing her, his death, but she needed to be strong for Kurt. At least when she was in front of him.

She sniffled and it was louder than she anticipated in the eerie quiet of her bedroom. Kurt rolled a few inches closer to her and wrapped his small arm around her side as much as he could. His voice was muffled by the pillow, but Elizabeth could hear him clearly when he muttered, "Its' okay, Mommy, I miss Daddy too."

Elizabeth buried her face in Kurt's hair and let silent tears roll down her face. Not long later, both of them were asleep.

Elizabeth had known for a long time that her son was, well, different. Not in a bad way, but in a way where he was never quite like other little boys. No mud, bugs, or sports for him. It was a phase that he had never grown out of. Elizabeth loved him all the same. She also knew that he hadn't been the son Burt had been expecting, but he had loved him to bits, in his own brusque way, all the same.

Elizabeth was worried, because Kurt was getting older. When Kurt was four, five, six, and he liked purple more than green and wanted to play with Barbies with the girls in his class, it was cute. He was nine now, and he was edging into pre-teen territory, and Kurt's, Elizabeth was just going to say it, girlish tendencies would no longer be seen as adorable. It would illicit teasing from his peers, odd looks from teachers and other parents. Elizabeth didn't want her son treated that way. He didn't deserve it, for he was a sweet, funny, intelligent boy.

She would love her son no matter what. If he was a straight guy who happened to like girly things, if he were gay, if he were transgendered… She looked up these things up on the Internet a few years ago. She was opened-minded if not a bit ill-informed. Things like sexual orientation and gender identity were things that didn't get discussed in Lima, Ohio unless in disparaging terms.

But she was afraid. She knew new that Kurt would face prejudice and bullying for just being who he was and enjoying what he liked. She would be there for him, but she hadn't been banking on raising Kurt alone. To be his only support system against the cruel world. So when Kurt came home from his third day of freshman year of high school covered in blush slushie stains looking angry and eyes red like he was trying not to cry or the frozen drink was still irritating his eyes, she wished she wasn't alone. Because she could hug Kurt and help him scrub the stains out of his favorite shirt and make him his favorite dinner and ask him if he wants to talk about it. But Burt wasn't there to demand names and threaten the principal and give Kurt that 'no one pushes Hummels around' speech.' The two tactics complimented each other. Elizabeth to deal with things calmly, the nurturer, and Burt, the protector, impassioned in a way that told Kurt that his father would always love him and defend him.

Elizabeth sometimes really thought she should have died instead of Burt. He was a wonderful father, even as much as he doubted himself.

One day Elizabeth Hummel came home from work early where she worked as a secretary at a legal office and walked in on her son dancing to Beyonce in front of a camera with two girls she had never met before. He had recently joined the Glee Club at his school, which Elizabeth was glad about because he seemed to brightened up since that day, having somewhere to belong. She guessed that was where those two girls were from.

He seemed a little embarrassed, but otherwise introduced the two girls. The blonde was Brittany, the dark-haired Asian girl was Tina. Elizabeth asked if they would be staying for dinner. Both said their parents were expecting them. Elizabeth returned upstairs and closed Kurt's bedroom door. The muffled beats of the song could still be heard upstairs.

Elizabeth decided that she needed to have a talk with Kurt. The Talk. He hadn't done anything wrong, but like most parents tended to do, she forgot that he had grown up. Suddenly he was a sixteen year old boy. They talked all the time, but they never talked about sex or boys. Kurt hadn't come out to her yet, but Elizabeth was pretty sure he was gay. He had slipped up once or twice in front of her, commenting about a guy on the television being cute. Of course, that was only the tip of the iceberg, there was also drinking and drugs and parties and responsibility. And then college was looming, moving out…

Elizabeth collapsed into a seat on the couch, overwhelmed. Her baby was all grown up and she hadn't even prepared him yet for the big, wide, sometimes nasty, sometimes wonderful world out there.

She really needed to talk to him before she walked in on him doing something else. I mean, he was home alone a lot when she was at work and this time he had managed to have tech, costumes, back up dancers, and choreography. She had to talk to him tonight.

Once she was done eating dinner, Elizabeth pushed her empty plate away from her, a few inches towards the center of the table, and rested her arms on the table top.

"Kurt, we need to have an important talk," she announced. She had practiced this in front of the mirror of her vanity in her bedroom a few hours ago. The one where Kurt had broken her perfume bottle when he was a toddler and if she opened the middle drawer, the whole bedroom would smell of it. Kurt didn't remember doing it; she had asked once. That was years ago and he had probably forgotten the brief discussion she had had with him about it. That was okay though, it was her little secret. It now became the play where she kept her "Kurt mementos" – an album of baby pictures; his first onesie, one meant for newborns and now seemed so tiny; his first baby tooth that fell out, which was a little gross, she would admit, but Elizabeth was a sentimentalist. But it was the perfume that probably meant the most to her, for some odd reason.

Kurt had a fork of green beans halfway to his mouth, but he lowered it back to his plate. "Okay," he said, sitting back in his chair and the added, curious and confused, "Am I in trouble?"

"What? No. No. Not in trouble." Elizabeth takes a deep breath and relaxes her strict posture. Perhaps she had practiced too much. "It's just that you're sixteen now. A teenager, and you're going to have…feelings…" Elizabeth winced at that. That sounded like every cliché family sitcom conversation. She was usually much more eloquent than this. But when she was younger, when Kurt was a baby, she always figured that it would be Burt that would have this conversation with their son, like it would have been her responsibility if they had had a daughter.

"Okay. Let's start over."

"Good. 'Cause I'm already confused."

"Are you gay?" Elizabeth really should have prefaced it with something. Like an 'it doesn't matter one way or the other.' She was really off her game.

Kurt stilled. After a brief hesitation he said, "Yes."

"Okay," Elizabeth said with a nod and then added, because it was not too late, "Not that it matters. I love you either way."

"I know," Kurt replied with a small grin. He knew. That was good. Elizabeth must have been doing something right.

"You could have told me."

Kurt shrugged. "I just felt like if I told one person, I would have to tell everyone and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that yet. I mean, I am not ashamed or anything. I don't want to say in the closet, but this isn't a… progressive town."

She felt like crying now, hearing Kurt sound so grown-up and well-spoken as he expressed something he had obviously been dwelling on a lot. Having a conversation like this. It shouldn't have to be like this. She would change the world for Kurt if she could.

"I am sorry the world is going to be hard for you, Kurt. I really am. It's not fair. And I know you say you know it, but I really need you to know how much I love you. I will always be here for you, no matter what."

Kurt nods, lips tightly closed, looking a little teary-eyed. Elizabeth guessed speaking from her heart was a pretty good tactic. She reached across the table to grab his hand. She squeezed it and then let it go.

She cleared her throat. "Now we need to have another conversation."

"Another conversation?" Kurt repeated, brow furrowed. It was an awfully serious expression on someone so young, especially Kurt, who still had his baby face.

"You know. The Talk."

Kurt paled considerably, which was saying something, as he was hardly tan to begin with. "No, we don't."

"I know it is awkward, and I am hardly more prepared for this than you are. I mean, I going to have to get some pamphlets or something on the technicalities. But there is a lot more than just condoms and tab a going into slot b."

"Oh God," Kurt squeaked. His whole face was tinged pink now.

Elizabeth plowed on. "There is a whole emotional side to sex. I mean, yes, it is fun and it feels good, and sometimes you just—"

Kurt clunked his forehead down on the table to hide his face. Elizabeth realized that listening to his mom talk about how awesome sex is was not helping, so she let her last sentence trail off to nothing.

"The point is… Kurt, can you look at me, please." Kurt picked up his head and looked at her with wide, slightly horrified eyes. "The point is that you, or someone you're dating, or someone you're attracted to, might want sex for the wrong reasons. Sex is emotional, sometimes more than you think it will be. My first time—"

"Mom, please—" Kurt pleaded, hands over his ears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Elizabeth recanted, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "I swear I am not trying to make this embarrassing as possible."

"Well, try harder."

At that point, both of them broke down into a fit of giggles.

"This is supposed to be a serious conversation," Elizabeth managed to squeeze out between her laughs. 'And I am supposed to be the grown-up, mature one,' she added in her head, 'And here I am laughing over sex like a teenager.'

"Mom, if we stop this _talk_ right now, I promise to never have sex."

"Now, Kurt, that's not realistic. If I don't talk to you about these things, as uncomfortable as they may be, who will? I would not be a very good mother if I didn't."

"I think you're a great mother," Kurt said. His face had mostly returned to its normal color, but his cheeks were still tinged.

"Thank you, Kurt, but that is not going to stop me."

Kurt hung his head in surrender.

"I know that living here, in Lima, is going to be hard for you, as young gay man. High schoolers can be cruel, people are closed-minded, and you might not get an opportunity to date in high school at all. Not because you are not wonderful and you don't deserve it, but because there might not be any options. It will be hard, when you see all your peers paired up. It's lonely." Elizabeth dropped her eyes to her hands where she still wore her wedding band. Kurt didn't miss the gesture, but he didn't comment on it either.

"And sometimes, in those situations, you might just want to be loved or want attention or want to feel good-looking. I was young once, I know what it was it is like…"

"I've seen your yearbooks, Mom. You were never not pretty," Kurt butted in. Elizabeth had mixed feelings over that statement. It was a sweet compliment, yes, but underlying it she had the feeling that Kurt meant something more. Like he didn't feel that he was handsome.

"It doesn't matter if a person is pretty or not. Both can feel just as unconfident."

Kurt nodded, but he didn't look like he believed it.

"The important thing is sometimes people want to feel wanted. Are desperate for it, and would do the wrong thing, give themselves up, just for a taste of it. I don't want that to happen to you Kurt. I want you to know that you should never have sex just so you can feel wanted. I want you to know that you should never sleep with a guy just so they will be with you. Conversely, you should never pressure anyone else into being with you.

" What is important is that you respect your partner, whoever it may be, and, most importantly, you respect yourself. Sex can mean nothing, but it shouldn't."

The two sat in silence for a moment.

"You can run away now," Elizabeth announced. Kurt nodded urgently and made his quick escape. Elizabeth was a little proud of herself. And a little relieved. If Kurt was this uncomfortable with sex it might be a while until he had any. She didn't not want to think about her baby doing it anymore than he had wanted to think about his mother doing it either.

That night, after she had cleaned up dinner (a chore Kurt usually helped with, but Elizabeth had scared him out of the room, so she let it go), she got on the computer in her room. It was still a bulky desktop, but functional enough. She had spent a good amount buying Kurt his own laptop for his birthday this past summer. It wasn't a car, but Elizabeth spoiled him as much as possible on her single salary. It probably wasn't the best parenting tactic, but after Burt died…well, Kurt would already be missing out on one parent in his life and he would never have any siblings. Elizabeth would never have another child. She was getting too old now, even if she did ever get married again. It was one of those horrible, aftershock realizations she had had a week after Burt's death. She had lost more than just her life with him, but the possible future she could have had with more children she had thought they might have had.

They were never stretching for money. Elizabeth had been loath to do it, but she had sold Burt's shop and downsized to another house about a year after he had passed away. Sentimentality just hadn't been practical when it came to surviving. The money, however, had given her and Kurt a nice cushion for many years now.

Elizabeth was searching for educational websites about gay sex to send to Kurt.

She hadn't realized how dangerous typing _sex_ into Google was before. Some things could not be unseen. Her suffering, however, was Kurt's gain, for he would have had to been the one to navigate this if it weren't for her. She sent him a couple of links in an email. He was going to hate her in the morning.

Her assessment about Kurt's reaction was correct. He glared at her over breakfast the next morning. She could deal with that. At least she knows he looked at them. Things were normal by dinner time.

It was sometime next week that, when Kurt was picking at his fettuccini dinner, that he was the one to initiate a thoughtful conversation.

"Mom," he said, flicking his hand so that the noodle that was pierced on his fork fell off with a plop onto his plate. Elizabeth had half a mind to scold him for playing with his food. "What do you think Dad would think?"

"About what, honey?"

"About me…being gay." He was looked at his plate.

Elizabeth immediately set down her utensils. "Oh, Kurt, he would love you just the same."

Kurt made a little sound in the back of his throat and continued playing with his food.

"What do you remember about your father?" Elizabeth asked.

Kurt gave a little shrug. "He fixed cars and wore flannel and watched football… I mean, _I _couldn't have been the son he wanted."

"What else do you remember?"Elizabeth prodded. Kurt didn't respond. She continued. "Who took you to the garage with him every time you asked no matter how busy he was? Who watched _The Sound of Music_ with you at least fifteen times when you had chickenpox? Or taught you how to ride a bike that was tricked out with streamers just because you asked for them? Or bought you heels for your third birthday?"

Kurt looked up at her, "That was Dad? I mean, for all the other ones, I remember, but Dad was the one who bought me those plastic, sparkly, Disney princess shoes?"

Elizabeth nodded with a smug grin.

"Oh."

"Your father may have been…a rough around the edges kind of guy, but he loved you just the way you were. Being gay would not have changed that one bit."

"…now I wish I could tell him."

"You can."

"This is silly," Kurt said into the air. Mom was back with car on the small asphalt road that wound through the cemetery. "I mean, I am not really up and up on the whole 'god' thing, so I am not really sure how I feel about souls, and if you do have a soul out there, why ever would you waste your time hanging around a graveyard, I don't know."

He stared down at his father's gravestone. This had been Mom's idea, but she had always been more…spiritual…than Kurt was. Of course, he visited here on his dad's birthday and the anniversary of his death (and sometimes other times too) with Mom and they left flowers. His Mom liked to talk to the grave marker. For Kurt, it had always been a moment for reference and remembering.

"But I am going to do this, regardless. This is the closest I can get to talking to the dead without involving some type of occult ritual, and let's face it, from every movie I have ever seen, that doesn't turn out well." Kurt really needed to stop joking, this was supposed to be a serious moment.

He knelt down in the grass, regardless of pending grass stains on the knees of his jeans. "Dad," Kurt said, putting a hand on the top curve of the headstone. "I'm gay."

Only silence hung around afterward, not that Kurt had expected anything else.

Kurt sniffled. "I miss you, Dad. I really, really do. I wish you were here to see me grow up, to teach me how to drive a car, to interrogate my, hopefully, future boyfriends, to try to get me to understand what the hell is going on in a football game as I try to get you to understand that plaid is the weakness of patterns." Kurt wiped his nose with the back of his hand, which was uncharacteristically unhygienic for him, but didn't disturb the tears running down his cheeks. He heaved a big sigh.

"I can't believe I ever doubted you."

AN: By the way, as you see, the penname is two people. This story is written by Aki. I have started the next chapter. I anticipate it being a longer one, so it might take a bit, but hopefully not too much. I am having a lot of fun writing this story. Please review!


	4. The One With the Beards

AN1: I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. At first I was uninspired to write it. Then I got inspired and it just went on forever. Like, seriously, this is long. It is thirty pages on Microsoft Word.

AN2: I realized that had not kept my scene breaks in the first three chapters. They are readable without them…but I changed what symbols I use for line breaks in this chapter so they are now maintained. (Hopefully)

AN3: When I got the idea for this chapter, I thought Brittany! Santana! This chapter will be hilarious! And then it turned out a lot more angst-y than I anticipated. Oh, well, I have said it before to Tenshi, I am an angst whore. (But it is not too angsty. It has fluffy, happy endings and moments).

Chapter Title: The One With The Beards

Characters: Kurt, Burt, Brittany, Santana, Mercedes, Blaine, various Glee clubbers

Pairings: Kurt/Brittany; Kurt/Santana; one-sided Mercedes/Kurt; Santana/Brittany; Kurt/Blaine

Warnings: Santana being Santana; one instance of the f-bomb

Timeline: Pre-season 1, Season 1, Season 2, Post-graduation

**The One With The Beards**

Kurt knew from age twelve with complete certainty that he was gay. He knew for most of his consciousness that he was different, at the least. He was pretty sure about the whole liking boys thing for a long time before contemplating the implications and the labels for his sexuality. He did remember, distinctively, being in love with the pink Power Ranger as a child, but that might have been the pink or more the fact that he wanted to _be_ the pink Power Ranger because she ended up with Tommy.

By high school other people started to speculate about him— because he was slightly built, had a high voice, and preferred musical theater to football. His lips were sealed, neither confirming or denying. He was a nobody nerd anyway, who could also be a bit of a bitch when the occasion called for it. He wasn't on the radar of most of his peers, unless he was getting pushed out of the way in the halls by jocks. But he had seen that happen to the goth Asian chick and the kid in the wheelchair, so he didn't feel too special.

Part of Kurt wanted to be out and proud and fabulous, damning what all others thought. So he ordered a Gucci sweater from a discount website and wore it one day. He got covered in red dye #7, corn syrup, ice, and cheery flavoring. The sweater was ruined.

As he was washing his hair out in the bathroom sink, he had a moment of clarity. Who was the person who got the most slushie facials? Rachel Berry. Why? Because she was loud, obnoxious, and got in people's way.

If he blended in, stayed quiet, stayed on the edges— he could keep the bullying to the minimum. It was a simple plan: no snarky comments to bullies who bothered him; no loud, amazing outfits; nothing overtly gay. He could just live on the sidelines, being quietly and privately himself.

It worked out pretty well. He wasn't exempt from the occasional locker shove, slushy, or name-calling. He even got thrown in the dumpster once. Once, mind you. Jacob Ben Israel had gotten thrown in many, many times. It was because he caused trouble for the upper hierarchy of the McKinley High totem pole.

Kurt had been called a fag a couple of times, but it was almost exclusively in the context of gym class. And when sports where involved, anyone who messed up enough could be called that adage.

Then there was that one day when Kurt decided that wasn't enough. The day started fairly ordinary: alarm clock, shower, clothes, breakfast… then there was the divergence. When Kurt was throwing his book bag over (and not the satchel he had been eyeing in the store window a month ago) his shoulder, reading to go to the bus stop, his dad stopped him and tugged him into a quick hug. Kurt froze. It wasn't that his dad wasn't a caring person; he just tended not to be overly physically affectionate.

"Wha-wha?" was all Kurt could stutter out, feeling rather stupid for not even being able to use full words.

Burt didn't mention it, just stepped back, and clapped his hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Have a good day at school, kid," was all he said.

Stunned, Kurt walked out the front door to the wait at corner where the bus would pick him up. It wasn't until he got to school that the next weird thing happened. Not so weird, more typical, but something that affected him. He went to hang out in the school library as he usually did when the bus got there yearly. He really hadn't made any friends yet this year and hanging out in the hall alone was really depressing. In the library, at least, he could pretend that he had a purpose.

He sat down at his regular table. The librarian was sitting at her desk over on the other side. Someone had left the morning paper, and he began flipping through it. He was already done his homework and there were no pending tests or projects that week. He didn't read the paper much. He was from the information age; he was accustomed to getting his news from the TV or Internet.

It was really by chance that he saw the article at all. A one column piece with its headline below the fold on a page about a third way in: "Gay Bashing at School Dance." Kurt read swiftly, eyes darting down the page, heart pounding fast, the paper crinkling in the grip of his fists. He found himself shaking as finished the story. The two boys the article was addressing were alive. Kurt finds himself thinking "Thank God," even though he doesn't believe in God, but he forgives the slip in the dire moment. However, they were hospitalized. There was a list an injuries between the two: broken bones, stitches, concussions, and one had even been in a coma for two days. Kurt got slammed into lockers and dumpster tossed before, but this…this was a whole new level. He knew the world, especially his world, in small town Ohio, like where these boys had been, was unfair and bigoted, but he didn't except people would be so blatantly vicious.

The warning bell rung, and Kurt was stumbling out of his chair and into the halls, his books for first class clutched tight to his chest, on auto-pilot. He felt too much empathy for the boys he never met and too much fear… like it could happen again. The article said they had gone together to the dance— as dates. There was an odd sort of longing that Kurt felt then, amidst the swirl of worse emotions. "It won't happen to me. It won't happen to me. It won't happen to me," he repeated over and over again in his head.

"Of course it won't," his thoughts continued. "They had been flaunting themselves." He hated himself the minute after he thought it.

It was then that the third occurrence of the day happened, as he was walking down the hall in a haze. He bumped into the senior fullback for the football team. If Kurt had been paying attention he would have overhead the five foot eleven, broad-shouldered, and ginger-haired with a bad complex boy complaining, loudly and angrily, about how much of a bitch his now ex-girlfriend was. Kurt would have known to avoid him.

This footballer, in a pissy mood over his recent break up, instantly shoved Kurt away with a barked, "Watch where you are going, fag." Kurt banged in the lockers, the back of his head bouncing off the metal and a combination lock probably leaving a bruise on his back. The football player had already stormed off, but all Kurt could see where the people in the hall who had stopped to stare at him.

He knew what they were thinking. That guy just called him out, in front of everyone. They were all thinking it now. He could still feel the hands that shoved him. His body still throbbing where it had impacted hardest with the lockers. His chest was tightening. The bell rang again, and those left in the hall scurried off to their classrooms. All except him, frozen to the lockers, struggling to breathe.

Only when Kurt was finally all alone in the hall, did his lungs seem to accept air again. It took a few, grasping, shuddering breaths until his breathing became relatively normal again.

Kurt knew he should be getting to class. He wasn't one to skip. He valued his grades, because they were a ticket out of this town, but the thought of all those eyes on him as he came in late… judging him, seeing through him, knowing…

He ended up in the bathroom instead. He splashed cold water onto his face and wiped it dry with his sleeve. It was just an inexpensive long sleeve t-shirt. Didn't matter if it got wet or dirty. He gripped the edge of the porcelain sink and he stared at himself at the mirror.

He couldn't be gay. He couldn't. At least, not in high school. He understood that it wasn't something he could change, and he didn't even want to try. But if wanted to survive this place it would be necessary.

Freshman year passed by rather uneventfully. Kurt has learned the art of dodging people in the hallways. He was an expert in not bumping into people. He didn't answer in class unless he was called on by the teacher, and when he did talk, he tried to in a voice that he forced lower. Kurt was no longer just on the edges, he was blending in with the cinderblock walls. Silently, he would admit to himself that he felt dry and empty.

Sophomore year he anticipated more of the same. It started out the same. A few weeks into the school year there was a scandal about Mr. Ryerson getting, well, handsy with a male student. He was fired. The alleged student transferred. The glee club – Kurt hadn't even been aware that the school had a glee club – was disbanded. And then it wasn't because the Spanish teacher, one of the more competent and kindly teachers in the school if a bit oblivious, was taking over. It was in the morning announcements. Kurt saw the signup sheet on the bulletin board. It seemed to glare at him every time he passed. By the end of the first day it had four signatures on it.

_I like to sing_, Kurt thought. He did, although he only did it in the hours he was home alone, between when he got home from school and Burt got home from work. Never too loudly. He used to sing loudly when he was little. He knew his singing voice was strange for a sixteen year old boy. He couldn't sing in front of people without attracting the wrong kind of attention; the type of attention he had spent months learning to avoid.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the sheet on his way out of the school. It was another sacrifice that had to be made for his image. Kurt thought he might be tearing himself apart a little inside.

He watched the glee club grow with a sort of rapt, sadistic interest. First, Finn Hudson joined. Kurt thought the mammoth of a boy was cute, but he kept that to himself and almost forbade himself from looking at him in the hall and in the few classes they shared. Didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. Of course, Finn's status fell a few notches and if Kurt needed any conformation that joining glee club would be detrimental to his – nonexistent, for that was what he was aiming for— reputation, it was that even Finn Hudson, quarterback of there, admittingly dismal, football team and boyfriend of beautiful, bitchy, blonde head Cheerio was getting hassled for being queer for all the singing and dancing.

Then more jocks and Cheerios joined and became a little nicer people because of it. Even Puckerman, and well…even Puckerman!

One day, Kurt was passing the choir room after school and paused. A wonderful rendition of Defying Gravity of being performed.

It was his favorite song.

He didn't even remember moving, but suddenly he was sitting on the floor, back to the wall of the hallway wall adjacent to the choir room. He listened to the music as he sobbed silently into his hands. He loved this song, but he would never be able to sing it without being a hypocrite. He had never defied anything, let along the things that held him down.

"I'm worried about you," Burt said over dinner. Dinner seemed to be the only time the two actually talked, even though they had few things to talk about. Burt had the garage and Kurt had school, but both could end up being mundane most of the time. And Kurt was too busy hiding most of himself to really be honest or passionate about anything.

"Why?" Kurt said, avoiding his dad's eyes and rolling his peas around his plate with his fork.

Burt didn't say anything for a while after that and when Kurt heard the noise of his utensils in use again, he thought he it was over. The two weren't great at anything emotional since Kurt became a teenager.

"I'm worried because you are alone. You don't do anything besides school. You don't… bring any friends over." The implication of the last one was clear, although averted to be nicer. _You don't have any friends._

Kurt did his best to fake scoff, and started sculpting his mashed potatoes into a volcano as an excuse not to look up. "I hang out with people at school." _Lie._ "There are not any clubs that interest me." _Lie. _"And I am too busy with all the studying from my advanced classes to do much anyway." _Lie. Lie. Lie. _

It was second semester when Kurt slammed his locker shut and jumped to find that there had been someone standing right behind the door. It was that blonde Cheerio in glee club. _Brittany_ Kurt knew her name to be, which was saying something, for he knew few names of any of his classmates, having sequestered himself off so much. But he did know every member of the glee club's names. He was a bit of a fanboy, and he found himself not only attending every performance they gave (school assemblies, invitationals, sectionals…), but also reading about their personal lives on Jacob Ben Israel's blog, as repulsive as Kurt found him in real life. Ben Israel had a lot of info too, for he had a rather disturbing crush on Rachel Berry. Poor girl.

"Hi," Brittany said, smiling at him. This girl had never spoken to him before in his life.

Kurt glanced around to see if she was talking to someone else before responding. "Hey."

Brittany's smile widened fractionally and Kurt was not relieved by this at all. If anything, it made the girl seem more menacing, even though he knew that she was anything but.

"So, do you want to go out?" she said.

Kurt felt that this would have been an appropriate moment for a spit take. "Um, what?" he responded.

"Do you want to go out with me?" she repeated, slowly, as if he were the dunce one of the duo.

"Are you asking me out?" Kurt said. He was still stunned by this turn of events.

Brittany nodded enthusiastically.

"Why?"

"I have made out with every guy in this school except for you and the robot." Kurt decided it was in the best interest of his sanity not to ask. "And there's a rumor that you are totally gay, but I have never seen you doing any boy-kissing, so it means you still count on the list." Kurt's eyes skirted over to the rest of the hallway to see if anyone was listening. Brittany wasn't exactly talking quietly. But if there was already a rumor going around, then what did it matter if people overheard.

Crap, crap, crap. Despite everything people still thought he was gay. And that, more than anything, is what made Kurt say, "Yeah, let's go out."

"Great, see you tonight at Breadstix at seven. Don't be late."

He told his dad he was going out to eat with a friend, which his dad was all too pleased to hear. Kurt didn't say date. He wasn't ready to admit that, because he felt like he was lying to himself.

He wore an outfit that was better than what he wore to school. It wasn't _him_, exactly, but it felt nice to have an excuse to dress up a little bit. He put on slim-flitting blue jeans and a black button-down. He drove to the restaurant in the Navigator Burt had given him for his birthday over the summer. When he got there, Brittany was already waiting for him in a booth, still in her Cheerios uniform. Kurt steadfastly believed that Coach Sylvester threatened them into wearing them at every waking moment possible.

Brittany was a trip to talk to, and in any given moment Kurt would be changing his mind as to whether it was a good trip or a bad one. Underneath all of her ditzyness, however, she was genuinely nice. It took only one dinner and Kurt was finding her endearing, even if she did try to start playing footsie with him twice. He ended up tucking his legs far under his bench seat and pretended she wasn't and she gave up.

When the bill came, Kurt paid. As they walked out of the restaurant, Brittany grabbed his hand. It was nice, the simple form of affection, but he couldn't suppress the notion that he would prefer a hand that was larger, rougher, with a firmer grip.

They received a few odd looks from a few other McKinley students who were dinning there as they walked out, but they were odd looks Kurt could deal with. He was of interest. Take that gay rumors…even if they were technically accurate.

"Is that your car?" Brittany asked, looking at the vehicle Kurt stopped by.

"Yeah, my dad got if for me for my sweet sixteen…"

They stood there for a moment without saying anything. Kurt shifted his weight between two feet. Brittany was staring over his shoulder into the darkness of the parking lot.

"Do you have a car here?" Kurt asked.

Brittany shook her head. "My parents won't let me get my license."

Kurt didn't voice it, but he thought that it was probably a good idea. "So, you need a ride home."

"Yup."

"Then how did you get here?"

"Santana brought me. She's my best friend… You're back seat is probably really big."

If Kurt hadn't just spent a whole meal with Brittany adjusting to her, the non-sequitar would probably been more jarring than it was.

"Yes, it's pretty big."

"Can I see it?" she asked.

"Okay."

Kurt unlocked the backdoor and opened it for Brittany like a gentlemen. Brittany climbed up into the van in less than lady-like fashion, and that paired with her Cheerio skirt left Kurt with seeing more of her thighs and spanks than he ever wanted to see on a girl.

Brittany slide to the far side of the black leather seat and patted the spot on the bench next to her. Kurt took the cue and followed her in, shutting and locking the door behind him. He stayed on his side of the seat.

Brittany giggled, and it sounded kind of fake, but then she motioned towards herself and said, "Come closer."

Kurt knew her intention. It was his moment to decide. He could refuse, insist it was time to go home, and end this whole charade. He could be that kid in school everyone thought was gay because he wouldn't make out with the girl who was (a) pretty, (b) a Cheerio, and (c) had made out with every other guy in the school. Or he could scoot over to her and dive deeper into his lie.

It took him less than ten seconds for him to decide. He moved over closer to Brittany.

That was how Kurt got his first kiss. It was another thing, like the holding his hands, that was nice, but off. Brittany was obviously experienced. He was awkward, but she was taking charge, and it was soon that she was getting his mouth open to slip in some tongue. Her hands were in his hair, which he did not appreciate, and then he was leaning him backwards. With a little 'umph' with the fall, Brittany had pushed Kurt fully down on the seat and she was on top of him.

Kurt wasn't sure what to do with his hands, so he set them safely on her waist, equal spacing from the areas he wouldn't dare wander: boobs and butt. Brittany didn't have the same problem. She let her hands wander with free abandon, from his hair, down his arms, across his chest, and then lower.

"Woah!" Kurt said, when Brittany's hands wandered to his crotch and began fumbling with the button on his jeans. He pulled her hands away and sat up.

Brittany coked her head to the side, looking confused. "What's wrong?"

"Don't you think that's a little fast?" Kurt was a bit breathless as he said this and it made his voice go a lot higher than it was normally and a lot higher than she would have liked.

"But…" Brittany said and then trailed off. Kurt got an odd feeling that a lot of her dating experience went this fast. It made him feel sad. "Don't you like me?" Brittany finished off her thought after a moment of contemplation. She looked like she was going to cry.

"Yes, of course I like you. I like you so much that…" he quickly searched his head for something, "That I respect you."

"Respect me?"

"Yeah," he said, taking her hands in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, "It means we should take it slow."

Brittany blinked and didn't seem to be looking at him for a moment before saying in a leap of logic and a moment of clarity. "You mean you want to date me for real? Like boyfriend-girlfriend."

Kurt raked his bottom lip through his teeth. "Totally."

"Cool!" Brittany had perked up and Kurt couldn't help but smile at her reaction. She looked down at their intertwined hands and then back up. "You're hands are like girl hands. And so are your lips…they're so soft. And you aren't taller than me. It's like I am half dating a boy and half dating a girl."

"I would prefer that you didn't say that around other people," Kurt said.

Brittany nodded in seemingly sage understanding. "Alright… but can I tell people we did more than just kiss. My reputation is really important to me."

Kurt held back a grimace. "You can say we went as far as you want."

Dating Brittany had some perks Kurt was to learn in just that first week, more than just people thinking he was not gay. First of all, she was a hot Cheerio and even if she did go with basically every guy, there were few she spent time with for a more prolonged period of time, it had a reputation boost for him. And he had someone to sit with at lunch, which was surprisingly nice.

Of course, one of them was Santana, which wasn't as nice, especially since the first thing she said to him when he sat down was, "Brit was telling me about last night." Her smirk was like a shark's. "And we all thought you were queer, Hummel."

A couple other of the glee club members were sitting at the table too. Puck was at the end, rolling his eyes, with a pregnant Quinn across from him. Mike and Matt were there two, but they were fairly silent. Kurt realized that these were the "cooler" members of the glee club. However, Brittany, it seemed, mixed it up, because the next day they ate with Tina, Mercedes, and Artie. According to Brittany, Santana and Puck were doing the nasty in the handicap bathroom and thus why they were not at lunch. For Kurt, that was too much information.

Over the course of the first week, he ended up spending time with every member of the glee club at lunch, including that new Jesse guy who was a transfer. It was like he got to interact with all the people he had been fawning over for months, like an ascended fan. Not that he let them know that. He didn't want to sound like a creeper.

It was kind of depressing. These were the friends he wished he had.

Within two weeks time, Kurt was spending evening and weekends out. Sometimes it was on dates with Brittany. During which he was trying his best to constantly fend off her physical affections. Sometimes he was hanging out with Brittany and her glee friends. He got to go to the mall a few times with Brittany and her girlfriends to the designated bag carrier, because Mercedes didn't have a boyfriend; Tina did have a boyfriend, but Artie could hardly carry much on his lap and wheel himself around at the same time; Puck wasn't Santana's boyfriend, but sex buddy; and they never invited Rachel, and whoever she was dating at the time, along.

Kurt really would have preferred to be shopping with the girls rather than just watching them shop. However, this was the closet he could get without playing into some suspected stereotypes. And if he only commented on their very best and very worst outfits and switched the color or size of the shirt they had piled outside the changing rooms to try on while they were all away, he could get away with helping a little bit.

"I think it's really good you're finally making friends," Burt commented over dinner.

Kurt swallowed his forkful of spaghetti. "Actually, it's more than that."

Burt raised his eyebrows in a questioning gesture.

"I have a girlfriend," Kurt announced, though he really couldn't meet Burt's eyes as he said it. Instead, he went for nonchalance, saying it as he twirled more of the noodles onto his fork.

As such, he didn't see Burt pause everything he was doing for a split second. "A— a girlfriend?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Dad," Kurt responded dryly.

"No, it's just—" he backtracked. "It's just sudden. Do— do you like her?"

Kurt rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't be dating her if I didn't like her." But really, he didn't like her, not like _that_. As a friend and a person, sure, but never anything more.

"Well, what's she like?"

"Her name is Brittany. She's… not the brightest crayon in the box, but she's sweet. Oh, yeah, she also is a Cheerio and in the glee club."

"Glee club?" Burt asked.

It was the first time that Kurt had mentioned to the glee club around his father, despite his minor, or not so minor, obsession with it. For some reason Kurt felt that he was being caught in a lie.

"You know, it's like a choir, except with competitions and more dancing."

"No, I know what it is. I just didn't realize McKinley had one of those."

Kurt shrugged in what he hoped was a non-caring way. "They just revived it this year, I think. It's kind of like the most unpopular club in the school, but it has some of the most popular kids in the school in it. It's kinda weird."

"Hmm. Sounds weird."

Kurt just nodded.

They continued eating.

"You can bring her over here if you want…your girlfriend," Burt supplied a few minutes later.

"…I might."

Kurt did bring her over next Saturday night and introduced Brittany to his father. She made some really confusing comment out starfish that left both father and son confused.

"Are you sure she's not on drugs?" Burt asked, pulling Kurt aside before he ushered Brittany downstairs into his basement bedroom to hangout.

Kurt opened his mouth to say no, paused, and then decided not to dignify that question with a response.

"Be sure to leave the door open," Burt said.

"Dad," Kurt said with a scoff. "We're not going to be doing _that_," and then he added as an afterthought, because the whole point was that he wanted his dad to think that he wanted to do _that. _"Not when we know you are just upstairs."

If Kurt had his way, he would never be doing anything vaguely _that_-like with Brittany ever, while, at the same time, the whole school thought he was. Kurt sometimes felt a little pang of guilt for affecting Brittany's reputation if it weren't for that fact that it was sort of what she wanted for her reputation.

They kissed a little bit on his couch, completely vertical. This was intentional. Kurt didn't want to give her any wrong ideas by inviting her onto his bed.

Brittany pulled back after a short while.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked.

"All we do is kiss," Brittany said.

"Didn't we agree to taking it slow?" Kurt replied. They hadn't really agreed. Kurt had just sort of said it and Brittany had so far gone along with it. He hoped, however, this was enough to confuse her into forgoing the rest of the conversation.

"But it has been like three and a half weeks!"

"Really slow," Kurt offered. He didn't think that was really slow at all for high school terms. If he was really dating someone, and by really dating he meant dating a boy, he thinks it was probably take longer than three and some weeks to be ready to progress to anything more than some vigorous kissing.

Brittany looked at him for a long time, like she was scrutinizing him. "You're different from other boys," she said and Kurt's heart stuttered in his chest in a bad way. Had he been found out? "You're the best boyfriend I've had," she continued. She had been complimenting him.

"Come on, let's do something fun," said Kurt, taking Brittany's hands and pulling her to her feet. That night they laid on his carpet as Kurt gave her a manicure— he had perfected the practice in middle school, and then they flipped through his old editions of Vogue—also from middle school— that had been stowed away in a box in the back of his closet. Kurt noted in his head that the location was ironic. It was the most like him he had felt in a long time. And he could be _him_ in front of Brittany, because she didn't get it and she also didn't care.

"This was the funnest date I had in forever," Brittany said as she hugged him good night after he drove her home. Kurt resisted the urge to tell her that funnest wasn't a word, but didn't resist the urge to smile.

When he hugged her, it let him ease the nasty weight of guilt for using Brittany for his beard. Because at least he treated better than other guys. At least he made her have fun. At least they would stay away from her for a little while.

Kurt and Brittany dated for the rest of the semester. Through her, Kurt was privy to all the glee going-ons in a way that was much more up close and personal that Jacob Ben Israel's blog had been. He was there for Mercede's tenure as a Cheerio – in which, as Cheerios tended to hang together and Kurt tended to hang with Brittany, he got to know her a lot better and he could imagine them turning into pretty good friends if they got the chance— and as Puck's girlfriend, for Jesse's betrayal, Rachel's mom revelation, Quinn's baby being born, the loss at Regionals, the club being disbanded, and the club being not disbanded again.

One day, after all the drama had settled down and it was not quite summer yet, Brittany asked Kurt to meet her in the football stadium bleachers after school. They were empty. He spied her sitting at the very top and climbed up to meet her.

"Sit down, Kurt," she said very solemnly as he came to stand before her. He sat down next to her.

She angled herself toward him and flicked her ponytail over her shoulder. "We need to break up."

Something stopped in Kurt's throat. He knew that this day would inevitably come. He guessed he had just gotten more attached than he thought.

"I need to be free to fly. It's not you, it's me. You're a great guy, but I just need my space. There just wasn't any chemistry between us. You will make some girl very lucky some day."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. It sounded like he was quoting every generic TV breakup speech ever. On second thought, she probably was.

He decided to cut her a break. "It's okay, boo. It was fun while it lasted."

"It was!" Brittany exclaimed, clapping her hands a few times. "Next year there is going to be a whole new class full of freshman guys I will have to kiss. You're still the best boyfriend I've ever had. I'm glad Santana told me to keep dating you."

"Wait, what? Santana told you to date me?"

"Well, I was going to date you anyway, y'know, for my record, but after you said you wanted it slow and to be my boyfriend, Santana said I should keep dating you so people won't know you were gay."

"I'm not gay," Kurt retorted quickly—too quickly. He cleared his throat. "I mean, why does she think I'm gay?"

"Santana says she has a gaydar that is never wrong… I wonder where she bought it…" She stared off into the horizon for a moment before turning her attention back to a stunned Kurt. "It's okay. I don't care if you were my boyfriend who likes other boys. You were a really good kisser. I'm glad I had an opportunity to teach you."

With that Brittany got up and left. Kurt sat there dazed for a moment. Perhaps he really had underestimated Brittany.

The unforeseen side-effect of Brittany dumping his was that Kurt was going to lose all the friends he had gained tangentially through her. He thought of this on the drive home. It was much more heartbreaking than the break up. He knew everyone knew because Brittany has made it facebook official even before he had gotten onto his computer that evening. Harsh.

But the next day in school, Tina and Artie took time to talk to him in the morning before class started. It was small talk, but talk nonetheless. Matt gave him a silent bro head nod as they passed in the hallway between three and fourth periods. Even more telling was when Mercedes invited him to sit with her at lunch. It was at the less cool glee club table— which was appropriate considering otherwise he would be eating with his ex-girlfriend of not even one day and her Cheerio best friend with the impeccable gaydar. Rachel was there too, and was talking— and no one was listening— and Kurt found her a little bit grating. Finn was there because he was now dating Rachel. And Quinn was there, as now she and Mercedes were bffs, because even though she was no longer pregnant, she had not regained her popularity.

Mercedes smiled at him over the table. Kurt smiled. It was nice to have friends.

Kurt leaned in the doorway of the family room, waiting for the commercials to roll during _Deadliest Catch _before he made known his presence to his dad.

"Dad."

Burt looked over the back of the couch at him. "Yeah, Kurt?"

"I just wanted to let you know that Brittany and I broke up."

Burt muted the TV. "Are you okay?"

Kurt shrugged. "It was friendly-ish. We weren't meant to be."

"Regardless, first break ups can be hard. When did it happen?"

"Yesterday after school. I had to let it settle before I told the world, y'know?" Kurt said with yet another shrug.

"Yeah, I get it… Kurt, you know that you can come to me if you need to you can talk to me about girl stuff,… or not-girl stuff. Whatever."

"Yeah, sure dad." Kurt went to his bedroom.

Summer came. Mercedes and he exchanged numbers. He had been right when he predicted that they would get along well. She was sassy and had a hell of a singing voice. She had a nice taste is style that just needed his guiding hand to fine tune it. He let himself indulge that summer, get more passionate about patterns, complimentary colors, and verging trends than he had in the last two years.

It was fun. He was having fun. Pure, unadultered fun, without having to worry about Brittany trying to get in his pants.

They got halfway through August until anything went wrong. They had been hanging out in the mall. Kurt had just bought the two of them fruit smoothies from a stand and they were sitting on a bench overlooking the over lower floor.

Mercedes put her hand over his where it was on the edge of the bench. Kurt looked at their hands, then to Mercedes' face with big, deer-in-the-headlights eyes.

"We've been hanging out a lot this summer… flirting around this issue."

"Huh?" Kurt squeaked.

"Are we going to make this official before the school year starts?"

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Kurt had never intended to lead Mercedes on, but apparently he had. He thought they everything they were doing was under the umbrella of _just friends._ But they had spending an awful lot of time together. All their time. It was just…Kurt hadn't had a friend, a just friend, for a long time.

Kurt must have been silent for a long time, because Mercedes had withdrawn her hand and looked a mix of ready to cry and ready to punch him in the face.

"Mercedes," he croaked out, because he needed to say something to pierce the forced silence. "I can't." And he couldn't. With Brittany it had been fake for both of them, but with Mercedes…

"Is it because you're not over Brittany? It's been over two months. I thought I gave you enough time."

"Look," Kurt said, glancing either way in the busy mall. "I don't want to talk about this here. Can we go out to my car?"

Mercedes agreed and followed him out of the mall. Both were silent. They ended up sitting next to each other in front seats. Kurt didn't know what he is going to say and then he did. He stared straight forward out of the windshield as he said it aloud for the first time for someone else to hear.

"I'm gay."

"…oh."

He glanced over at her. She looked contemplative and like she didn't quite have the right words. "I mean, some people thought, but after you were with Brittany for so long…"

"That was the idea."

Kurt examined his steering wheel, until Mercedes spoke up again.

"So…did you guys…" she made a vaguely lewd hand gesture.

"No, no, hell no. I mean, she might have said we did stuff, but we didn't do anything more than kiss." Kurt shuddered in a kind of horror. It was enough to break the tension and they both started laughing.

"I'm sorry if I lead you on," he said.

"It's okay," Mercedes replied, then after a moment, "Why don't you just tell people. 'Come out' or whatever."

"You don't what's it's like, Mercedes. They way people look at me… treat me, even just because they suspect I'm gay. I'm not ready… You're the first person I've told." Kurt blinked away the tears threatening to fall.

Mercedes reached over and took his hand in hers and squeezed it in a comforting way. "Thank you for trusting me. And I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"I should be the one thanking you, Mercedes. For understanding…especially because I know even if this a rejection for a legitimate reason, it is still a rejection."

"I am a little heartbroken, but it's okay. I get it…"

"If it means anything," said Kurt, "You're the best friend I ever had."

They cut their trip short and went to their respective homes. Things were a little awkward between them for the next few weeks, because Mercedes _was _heartbroken because she had had an intense crush on Kurt that she really thought was going somewhere. Kurt felt guilty for hurting her and unsure how to act because he was 'out' to her, but he didn't know how to be out around someone. But by the time the school year had reached them, their friendship had been forged even tighter because of the tough time.

Junior year started out the best of any years of high school. Mercedes was awesome. He was sort of an honorary member of the glee club in some ways. Brittany still liked to talk to everyone about how nice his lips were and generally nicer to him that he thought any ex-girlfriend in the history of ex-girlfriends had ever been nice to their ex-boyfriend.

"Yo, Hummel."

Kurt stopped on stop and turned around. "Hey…Santana." He had never talked to her without least the buffer of Brittany— which was actually more than it sounded, as while Santana had a cruel word for about everyone, she never was mean to Brittany.

"We need to talk," she said, grabbing him by the upper arm with a vicious grip and dragging him down the hall and into an empty classroom. She shut the door behind them and locked it before rounding on him. Kurt would be lying if he said he hadn't feared for his life at that moment.

"So," Santana said, crossing her arms over her chest. Kurt had always thought she had looked intimidating in a Cheerios uniform, like she was a soldier in Sue Sylvester's army, but ever since she, as well as Brittany and Quinn, had quit the Cheerios, Kurt would have to say that she looked scarier in her own clothes even as she looked more stylish. She was a villain in her own right. "We needs to date," Santana said with a twitch of her head to make her dark hair flick over her shoulder.

He had been propositioned by too many girls lately for this to be shocking anymore. So instead of asking 'what' he whined, "Why?"

"'Cuz, I am the hottest thing in this school and anyone would be an idiot not to get on this when they are given the chance," Santana said with a confidence that was at once overblown and nonchalant.

"But...," Kurt stuttered. He didn't think he was going to die anymore, but the thought of having to date Santana was horrifying in itself. "Brittany said that you said that I…" He trailed off. He had trusted Mercedes with it, and even Brittany, but Santana was a something different.

"Was the mayor of Queer-Ville," she filled in with a peaked eyebrow.

Kurt frowned and then said, "Yeah."

"It doesn't matter if you are a homo or not," Santana said, dropping her crossed arms and leaning back against the teacher's desk. She observed Kurt through half-lidded eyes. If would seemingly be a more relaxed pose than before, but she appeared even more predatory.

"It doesn't?" Kurt questioned, deciding to go from standing awkwardly in the middle of the class room to mimicking the Latina— half leaning, half sitting on a student desk across from her. He wanted to appear unaffected.

"Look, I love Britt, but she's dumb enough to date a squirrel. If you really want to finish out high school with your high voice and your baby face without people thinking your super gay, you're going to have to date another woman. One with even a bigger reputation than Brittany S. Peirce." She leaned further back on the desk and smirked.

Kurt had to admit, she had a point. Dating Brittany had protected him last year and it had carried him mostly unscathed through first semester this year— even if he was attracting more negative attention by hanging out with the ultimate losers of the school: the glee club. But her logic was flawed.

"Yeah, that's what's in it for me. What's in it for you?"

Santana's smirk dropped. "I'm feeling charitable. I pity you. I'm a damn humanitarian."

"Well, as appealing as that is," Kurt said, layering on his sarcasm, as he was too quiet too much of the time to really use it. "I will have to pass." With that he pushed off the desk and started towards the door.

"I'll make you the most popular guy in this school," Santana yelled at his back. Kurt stopped to listen to her. "I'm totally running for Junior Prom Queen, because really – Quinn and Finn makes me throw up in my mouth a little. I can take you to the top with me. Brittany suggested you guys did stuff. I can tell everyone how you are the best, unstoppable heterosexual in bed."

Kurt turned on his heels to face her and this time he was the one with his arms crossed. "I don't care about popularity."

Santana scoffed. "Everyone cares about popularity. It is just the unpopular people who say that to make themselves feel better."

"I don't," Kurt said, more firmly. "I used to care about just getting through high school without anything too bad happening to me because…because I'm gay. I still care about that…, but I now I care about finishing high school with the few friends I finally made. I do not need to be caught up in whatever twisted game you've come up with. And I don't think even you're a bitch enough to threaten to out me to the school just so you can date me for some weird reason."

Santana took a deep, slow breath, eyeing Kurt as if she was measuring him up for something. Then, she said, "I'm a lesbian."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up to near his hairline in surprise. Of all things he had been suspecting to hear from Santana when she yanked him in here, it wasn't this.

"And now that Zizes has stolen my favorite beard, I need a new one."

"Really? Puck's your favorite beard?"

"Didn't you listen to what I was saying about popularity? We were like the anti- Quinn and Finn. Darkier, sexier, and cooler. Plus, he wasn't about to get emotionally attached and I could tell people we had a lot more sex than we actually did. I mean, who would deny having sex with his." Santana made a motion with her hands up and down her body.

"And why me? There are tons of other guys in this school lined up to get a chance with you. You just said it, who would deny it. Even more, who give up the chance?"

"Well, you apparently."

"We've been through this. Gay."

"Look, Hummel. I have just come terms with this whole lesbo thing this year. Like you, I'm not coming out in high school. This town bites, and not in a good way. And…" She sighed her, and to Kurt she looked the most vulnerable and the most real he had ever seen her, even though there were so many walls still up. "I don't want to be with guy who expects anything from me, emotionally or sexually. You and me, it's mutually beneficial." Then she went right back to being cocky, "And I can't go around being single. I'm a bombshell."

"Okay."'

"What?"

"I said okay. We'll go out. Breadstix, tomorrow night at six… but you can't bring a wheelbarrow."

Santana let out a particular four letter word at that.

After their date, which was slightly horrifying, slightly embarrassing, and slightly hilarious, the news spread like wildfire that Kurt and Santana were now a couple. Mercedes gave him a look when Santana dragged— under the pretense of holding hands— him over to the cool glee kids table at lunch. He shrugged the shoulder of his free hand and gave an apologetic half-grin. Mercedes rolled her eyes and mouthed, "You're insane." Then she turned to talk to Tina.

Kurt grimaced. He would have explaining to do later, but at least Mercedes didn't seem too upset with him. Being stuck between an angry Mercedes and a regular Santana did not sound like a safe place to be.

They sat down. Santana kept their hands locked with vice-like grip, setting them on the table for everyone to see as they sat next to each other. It more problematic for Kurt than Santana and she left him with only his left hand to eat with. Puck gave Kurt an appraising look. Then he must have decided that he was at least satisfactory if not impressive by even daring to go in with Santana, for he closed his eyes and gave a small, almost sage nod.

Kurt wasn't sure if he should be proud or ashamed to have been approved by the likes of Noah Puckerman.

The very same day, right after the final bell rang for the end of the day, and the hallway was the most crowded with people scurrying out for the day or to sports practices or club meetings, Santana was waiting for Kurt by his locker.

"Hey, what are—" Kurt started, but Santana grabbed him by the collar, swung him around into the lockers behind him, and stuck her tongue down his throat.

She pulled back a few centimeters and growled under her breath at him, "Reciprocate."

She took hold of his arms, which had been stuck frozen to his side, and lead them around her body so his hands ended up on her lower back. Her really lower back. Santana ducked her head back in and started kissing him again.

Oh no, no, no, no…Kurt's hands where on Santana's ass. This was the worst thing to ever happen to him. And he was too scared to move them.

They kept it up until the hall had mostly cleared. Santana drew back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Not bad, Hummel."

"What was that about?" Kurt hissed. Even though he had kissed Brittany, he had never done it in public.

"Have to keep up appearances," she said like it was nothing at all.

That, in general, was how their relationship went, Santana randomly molesting him or making him molest her when there were a lot of people around. Then they went out on dates, usually to Breadstix, because she had a thing for their free breadsticks, and that was where a lot of McKnley student hung out because it was fairly inexpensive.

Another place the students hung out a lot was the Lima Bean, a local coffee shop. On their third date there, Kurt had to buy Santana two muffins and a coffee within the first twenty minutes. Apparently dating lots of guys was a way Santana guaranteed that she had almost never had to buy anything for herself. This was becoming a strain on Kurt's wallet.

Brittany rolled Artie in. Artie 'yo'-ed them and Brittany waved enthusiastically as they passed their table. Kurt smiled back. He always thought they were a cute couple. Artie was a decent guy and it was nice to see Brittany dating someone long term… that wasn't Kurt himself. He turned back to Santana. His smile dropped when he saw Santana's sad, longing expression. He glanced back over his shoulder to the happy couple and back to Santana. It was all failing into place.

He reached over and took her hand. "I'm sorry."

Her expression went stony. "Let's get out of here."

They got into his car… Santana had her own, but she liked being driven around like a queen— or maybe she didn't like paying for gas— and, plus, she was of the opinion that his car was "badass" but people might think that he was "compensating for something." Her words, not his.

"Can we go to your house or something?" Santana asked. Her voice sounded croaky. Kurt stuck his key into the ignition and drove off.

"Hey, Dad, this my new girlfriend, Santana. She's upset. We're going to my room. Yes, I'll leave the door open," Kurt said in a rush as Santana stormed through his living room and Kurt chased after him. He didn't know how she knew where his room was and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Burt didn't get a chance to respond except for an "ummm" before Kurt was downstairs.

Next thing he knew, they were on his bed and Santana was literally crying on his shoulder. This was scarier than angry Santana or tongue-down-your-throat Santana, because this was, well, so unlike her.

"I love her," she whispered between heaves of her breath. "I love her. But she doesn't want to be with me."

It only took five minutes for her to calm down some, and then she was wiping away her smeared mascara with a tissue she offered from the tissue box from his bedside table. After she tidied herself up, she looked to the tissues to Kurt's face to Kurt's…pants, with a leer.

"Oh my God," Kurt said, "You have to turn everything dirty don't you?"

"It's part of my charm."

Santana started hanging out in Kurt's basement, which was strange, because it gave Kurt the idea that Santana might actually, slightly enjoy his company. That, of course, was a ridiculous notion. Yet, no one saw them there when they are together. No one would be the wiser if they did or did not hang out in Kurt's bedroom, so, one had to wonder.

Even more shocking was the day he was trying to study French while Santana paced around ranting about Rachel and Quinn and Finn. Kurt knew that was easier for her to be in a rage over it than it Brittany and Artie she were discussing. As he was trying to block her out, he didn't quit catch the moment she had concluded her conniption, but he did catch when Santana pushed his backwards in his bed, straddling him, and pressed her lips into his.

"Wha—?" was all Kurt managed to get out. They had never done this without an audience.

"I'm lonely, and you're surprisingly not bad at this." That pinched Kurt in the heart, because he understood. He was lonely too. He didn't know who it was worse for, Santana who had that person within her sight but couldn't have her, or himself, who only had that person when he dared to dream.

He lifted his head off the mattress and kissed her back. It was fake kissing, but it was the most real fake kissing they had ever done, because they both wanted to feel something. Passion, pain, or just that someone was there, someone cared. They weren't attracted to each other. They didn't love each other, hell, they barely liked each other as friends, but they were the best each other had in the moment.

Twenty minutes later they were out of breath. Santana had collapsed on top of him and Kurt rolled her to the side, so that she was half on the bed and still half on him. His arm was snaked around her waist and he wasn't sure when it had gotten there. She rested her forehead in the curve of his neck.

Santana was in one of her rare vulnerable moments again. Kurt thought he had probably seen more of whom she really was than just about anyone alive, except, perhaps, Brittany. Kurt wasn't privy to exactly what their friendship/ not relationship entailed. There had been rumors, of course, of them being two bi-curious cheerleaders, but there were also the rumors that it was all a show for boys.

He thought this kind of made the two of them friends, but he was not so sure when she pushed off of him three minutes later and makes a snarky comment on how he is so feminine, it is really easy for her to pretend he is a girl.

Then came the day Santana heard him sing. It was completely unintentional on his part. He had been in the shower in the bathroom off of his bedroom. Apparently Santana had showed up and Dad had let her in. Kurt didn't know this, or he wouldn't have walked out into his bedroom in nothing but a towel.

"Christ!" he shouted, clutching his towel around his hips so it wouldn't fall.

"Damn, Hummel," Santana said, "And by the way, I'm referring to the vocal chords."

And that was how Kurt Hummel got manhandled into joining Glee club, which, granted, he should have done when he first saw the signup sheet. He sang a song by the Beatles, his late mother's favorite band, which was probably his favorite music after various show tunes and Lady Gaga, but both of those two were too gay to really keep up with his whole…not gay thing.

The rest of junior year was pretty much a blast. Santana still had him in her clasp, but they had come to understand each other enough. Even if she was still caustic and rude to him, she had also turned pretty protective if any other tried to behave the same towards him.

Prom came and went. He helped Santana pick out a dress and hairstyle. She berated his dance moves. They didn't win prom king and queen, but Kurt hadn't expected that they would. Finn and Quinn won. Santana bitched about it for a week straight. Shortly after, Finn and Quinn broke up.

Kurt got to sing with glee, and become closer friend with the bunch. They had already won the Regionals round, so Kurt was guaranteed a trip to New York. Jesse St. James showed up and was a royal tool, but not having been in the glee club when the initial betrayal had gone down the year before, Kurt couldn't manage to work up a proper amount of resentment towards him. They didn't win. Again, it wasn't quite as much of a blow to Kurt then it was to the others, as he hadn't been working for it for two years. He was just jazzed he had gotten to go to the Big Apple.

The time came that Santana decided it was time for them to break up. It wasn't lost on Kurt that this happened after Artie and Brittany had split.

Summer came and went. Kurt hung out with Mercedes again a lot. He helped his dad at the garage. He got to know Rachel some more and found her slightly more tolerable than before.

Senior year he was single, but he didn't mind. Most everyone thought he was straight now. The thought was more depressing than relieving. It was such a switch of circumstances. But he was in the glee club and he had friends and that was enough.

His dad met Finn's mom at one of glee's performances and Kurt was sure that he was smitten. After all this time, his dad deserved to have someone to love again.

Santana and Brittany began walking down the halls with their pinkies interlocked, and eventually all their fingers intertwined. No one gave them a second glance, because girls can do that, but Kurt knew what it meant.

They ended up going to prom together. It might have been the most beautiful thing Kurt had ever seen. It also made him want to break down and cry, because maybe if he had been a little bit braver, a little bit stronger, and a little bit luckier, he could have had that too.

"So I guess that's everything," Burt said as he banged the back tailgate of his truck shut.

"That's everything," Kurt agreed. He had one duffle over his shoulder and a small cardboard box tucked under one arm.

They stood there in the parking. Burt pulled Kurt into a sudden embrace and Kurt almost dropped the box, but managed to balance it.

"I'll miss you, kid," Burt said. He had a strong grip of Kurt and wasn't letting go anytime soon. "It's been just you and me for years… I don't know what I'll do." He chuckled then, but it was a bit said. "I love you."

"I love you too, dad," Kurt murmured into his shoulder, because that was where his head was stuck. He felt a little embarrassed with the attention, but it was the first day of freshman orientation at NYU, so there had to be more parents around being overly-attentive and huggie towards their kids. "And I'll miss you. But my first break is only a couple months away."

Burt finally let go and Kurt took a step back. Burt patted on the shoulder in a much more manly way. "I know… so, this is goodbye for now. Have the time of your life," and then he added awkwardly, because it was a necessary piece of parental advice, "Make good decisions."

Kurt said his final goodbye and weaved his way through cars and students to get to the sidewalk outside the back of his dorm. Once he got there, however, he turned around and watched his dad pull his truck out of his parking space and then out of the parking lot altogether, and then Kurt could no longer see him.

Kurt released a breath. He was in New York, the city of his dreams. He was free of Lima and its shackles of high school and conservative expectations. But he was alone now. It was completely up to him whether he flew or fell on his face. It was a time for a brand new him.

Two days into orientation and Kurt had fifteen new facebooks friends. Sure, they were just _facebook_ friends, but it had taken him three years in high school to gain even that much. It was nice, though, having people like him without all the pretense. He was pretty sure most of them assumed he was gay, and he wasn't trying to do anything to dissuade them.

Kurt stared hopelessly at his schedule, wondering where the hell room A17 was. He was fairly confident he was in the right building, but it was huge and a maze and he was beginning to suspect that this was the actual first exam of college everyone kept quiet about. Even worse, class started in less than five minutes. He damned all male pride that made him think he, as a man, was a navigation genius; he needed to ask for help. A young man, another student presumably, rounded the corner into Kurt's hall.

"Hey," Kurt said, jogging a few steps forward. "Do you know where room A17 is?"

The boy turned around and Kurt was momentarily stunned. He was…cute. He was cute. He was a few inches shorter than Kurt, had bright hazel eyes, and dark hair Kurt was sure was curly under all that gel. Kurt didn't let himself think about guys he knew in real life in such terms— only guys on TV or in magazines. But that was back in high school.

"Intro to music?" the young man asked.

"Yeah," Kurt said, a little too breathless for his liking.

"Sorry, man, I'm just as lost as you are." He gave a little half grin which was sort of absolutely adorable. "But hey, we can find it together!" He patted Kurt on the arm like they were long time friends. "I'm Blaine, by the way."

There was a pause and Kurt realized he was supposed to introduce himself.

"Kurt. I mean— my name is— I'm Kurt."

If anything, Blaine's smile widened.

"Well, Kurt." Kurt really liked how Blaine said his name, which was usually harsh with his rough Germanic origin. Blaine made it sound like he was tasting honey. "Where have you been that A17 hasn't been?"

They compared notes as to where in the building they had searched and eventually determined that the "A" in A17 stood for attic, so they tromped up many flights of stairs to the top floor. They were late, but they hadn't been the only ones to get confused, including the teacher, who showed up after them.

Blaine leaned over his desk as the professor dismissed their class and said "You want to go lunch?"

Kurt's heart skipped a beat, but he had to remind himself that this is what people do in college— invite people they just met to the dining hall because they didn't know anyone.

They shared a two person table and talked for an hour and a half, much longer than when they were eating, about all the things they had in common— like music and Ohio and show choir. Kurt knew he was falling fast.

Kurt was having a hard time reading Blaine. They both had other friends, but they sure hung out a lot that first month. About a week in Blaine had casually mentioned an ex-boyfriend, so Kurt knew for sure he was gay. Although, being a music major, Blaine wasn't the only or even the first gay guy Kurt had met in college, but he was the first and only gay guy Kurt was head over heels for.

The problem was, Blaine was all sunshine and touchy-feely with all of his friends. Male, female. Gay, straight. Kurt wasn't ever sure if he were special or one of the bunch. So, Kurt was left pining. He had never made a move on anyone, let alone a guy.

Thanksgiving break had rushed up on him and Kurt found himself back in Lima. Dad and Carole had been dating more seriously, which meant Kurt had to hang out with Finn. They had both been in glee, but never particularly close. But they were able to reminisce and discuss college— Finn was studying music education in an in-state college about an hour away. They even shared Thanksgiving dinner together.

Kurt was cleaning up dishes Thanksgiving evening after Carole and Finn had left. Dad wandered in after seeing his girlfriend out and started loading the dishwasher as Kurt was scrapping left over mash potatoes out of a bowl into Tupperware.

"So…" Burt started.

"So," Kurt responded.

"College going good?"

"Really good."

"Like your classes?"

"Well enough."

"Making friends?"

"Plenty."

"Anyone special ?"

Maybe it was because mixed into a list of questions he was answering mindlessly that Kurt answered "Blaine."

And his dad just politely asked, "Who?"

"Oh, um, just my best friend… he's from Ohio too."

"It's nice to know someone you have something common with," Dad commented, concentrating on sticking silverware into the utensil rack.

"That's true," Kurt agreed, viciously scrubbing away cooked on grease in the turkey pan.

"You know, I didn't go to college. I've been a mechanic at heart forever. But… I hear it's supposed to be a really important time of self discovery."

"I guess," Kurt muttered downward, chin on his chest.

"You might learn things about yourself, when you're away. Come home a different person. I love just the way you are right now, but I will love you just the same after figure out who you are."

Dad had fit the last of the dishes in the rack, rolled them in, and shut the dishwasher door.

They were sitting in Blaine's door room. Kurt had a thick history textbooks open on the rug where he was attempting and failing to read it. Blaine was sitting cross-legged on his bed, strumming his guitar. Kurt had always appreciated music, but he finally got that whole "musicians are hot" sentiment.

"I like you," Kurt blurted out.

The strumming stopped. "What?" said Blaine.

Kurt couldn't reiterate it. He had already hidden his face in his hands and was blushed red.

"Kurt?" Kurt heard the squeaking of a cheap mattress as Blaine gut off his bed. He kneeled down next to Kurt and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. I know."

Kurt peaked out between his fingers at him. "You do?"

Blaine shrugged. "It's been kind of obvious."

Kurt groaned and covered his face up again.

"Hey, hey," said Blaine. "Don't worry. I thought it was kind of … cute."

Cute. Blaine just called him cute. Well, not him, per se, but his apparently obsession behavior or something.

"And?" Kurt asked, taking away his hands, but not far away if he had to hide again.

Blaine rocked back on his heels. "Have you ever dated anyone before?"

"I dated two girls in high school."

Blaine's strangely triangular eyebrows in amusement.

"They both knew I was gay at the time and now they are lesbians together."

"Are you serious?" Blaine said around a laugh.

"Well, technically, one of them is bisexual."

"You are serious."

"As a graveyard."

"That's morbid."

Kurt shrugged, as if to say, 'well, whatcha gonna do?'

"But you've never been in a real relationship?" Blaine asked.

Kurt shook his head no and bit his bottom lip to try and keep from blushing anymore. He had dulled down to a light pink and he wasn't looking forward to going tomato red again.

"And never anything with a… guy?"

Kurt shook his head again, looking at the floor. He was such a loser.

"It's not a big deal," Blaine said. "A lot of people don't date until college. And…" Blaine's hand cupped Kurt's cheek and he was titling his head up. He didn't finish his sentence. Rather, he just pushed his lips lightly against Kurt's.

Kurt had gone much farther, much faster, with Brittany and Santana, but this, this was the most passionate thing: a simple, closed-mouth, just brushing kiss.

Kurt just about melted. Fuck, yeah.

Blaine pulled back. Kurt blinked a few times, like he was trying to clear his head and check if this was just a fantasy.

"I like you too," Blaine said.

"Yeah," Kurt responded, "I got that… Why didn't you do anything before?"

"What, I asked you out to lunch on the first day we met. Got your number. Ask you to hang out all the time…"

"Oh," Kurt said.

"Too subtle for you?"

"Just a bit. That could all be classified under friend category."

"Well, friends don't kiss."

"That's true."

Blaine's roommate was an art major who was almost always gone, either working on some project in the art building or hanging out with his art major friends in another dorm across campus. It meant that there was open availability around classes and homework for them to lie Blaine's bed and languidly kiss.

Kurt's new favorite thing was boy lips. They have no lipstick or gloss, no artificial flavor or scent on them. They were just Blaine's. God, his hands. Perhaps Blaine's grip wasn't quite as strong as Santana's, which would be a feat, but they were larger and his fingers were calloused from playing the guitar. And feeling the hard, muscular body of Blaine lying next to him was so different from the soft, curved bodies of Brittany and Santana when they had hugged or cuddled.

If Kurt had ever had any doubt that he was gay, this would have washed them away.

"So, I need to tell my Dad I'm gay," Kurt announced one day as they are walking up the steps to the second floor where Blaine's dorm was. They had just been out with a group of friends playing Frisbee on the lawn. It wasn't really Kurt's idea of fun, but it seemed like a very college thing to do and it was more of a camaraderie thing. Plus, Blaine seemed to enjoy it.

Blaine paused, one foot on the next step, but he didn't shift his weight up. "He doesn't know?"

"Is that a problem?" Kurt said, crossing his arms. He was still wearing his pea coat. It was cold out and the end of Blaine's nose was pink.

"No, everyone comes out at their own pace," Blaine said in his gay guru voice. Kurt is keeping count, but he was pretty sure that Blaine had already motivated/ inspired three other students into coming out.

"But," Blaine continues, back to himself and they continued walking up the stairs and push through the fire door to his hallway. "I mean this is the least offensive way possible, but you kind of reek of gay."

"What does that mean?" Kurt asked as Blaine was unlocking his room's door.

"It means you ping on even the most inobservant person's gaydar."

"I had two girlfriends in high school. Two popular, hot, cheerleader girlfriends."

"Two popular, hot, cheerleader girlfriends who turned out to be lesbians," Blaine retorted. They were inside his room, and Kurt leaned up against the closed door and Blaine straddles his desk chair.

"My dad doesn't know about the lesbian part," Kurt said and he sounded petulant.

"Kurt, you realize that technically, you haven't even said you're gay to me?" Blaine said, then he looked out the window as he added, "I mean, I pretty sure you are, judging from the sound you make when I—"

"Blaine," Kurt scolded. Blaine shut up with a smirk. "Oh, I'm gay, by the way," Kurt sneered.

"See, it's that easy."

Kurt rolled his eyes in way that was heavy with drama and exhaustion. "Can you please be serious."

"Your dad probably knows."

"He's never said a thing. I mean, he's a mechanic and he played football in high school. Why would he ever think…or ever want, a gay kid?"

"Christ, Kurt, I have rebuilt a car and love football and I'm as gay as the Fourth of July."

"Hmm," Kurt responded and it sounded very snooty.

"He's never said anything?"

"Never."

"Just think back more carefully, really carefully… did he ever try to broach the subject of… sexuality or being different or changing... or why you like show tunes so much…?"

Kurt cocked his head to the side in thought, mostly to appease Blaine, but he was pretty sure, and, well… "Actually," Kurt said, "During break he said something about becoming yourself in college and he would love me no matter who I came or something."

Blaine had a superior expression on his face. "Was he being too subtle?"

"Oh come on, that could have meant anything!"

Blaine had a more serious expression on his face now. "He knows."

"But…" Kurt protested weakly. If he could have had his dad on his side all this time…

"He knows."

The next evening Kurt was staring at his cell phone cradled in his hand. He could wait until winter break to tell him, but… he had already waited long enough.

He dialed the number and listened to the rings passing with his lips pressed tightly together.

After the fourth ring and right before the answering machine would kick in, Burt picked up and said, "Hey, Kurt."

"Hey, Dad," responded Kurt and without even thinking, a grin stretched on his face. "I wanted to talk to you about something. It probably should be done face-to-face, but I can't wait for break."

"Is everything alright?" Burt said in a rush, because he always was a worried and protective father.

"No, everything's great. More than great."

"Then what is it?"

Kurt licked his lips for want of something to do. And because he felt this needed a little preempting, he said, "This is about me discovering who I am and changing," evoking the words his dad had used with him just a few weeks ago. "You know what I'm going to say…"

"I think I do," Burt said. Kurt was so glad that he didn't sound tired or disappointed.

"I'm gay," Kurt announced.

"That's what you were going to say."

"How long have you known?" Kurt asked.

"I might have anticipated it since you were little. I knew for sure once you started having your girlfriends over."

"What?" said Kurt over a laugh. That seemed like the least likely time.

"You would make these disgusted faces when one of them would lean over to kiss you."

"I didn't even realize."

"It was kind of funny."

"Thanks, Dad," Kurt spouted off sarcastically.

There is a lull until Burt asked, "Did you just figure this out…or, I mean, how long have you known you were gay?"

Kurt sighed. "Since I was twelve, I think, knowing for sure. When you are a little kid, you don't really think about it."

"That's a long time," Burt said.

"Yeah. I just wasn't ready. Or maybe it was Lima that wasn't ready for me. I don't know."

"It was your choice, Kurt. You couldn't force coming out if you weren't ready, if you didn't feel comfortable or safe… But I want you to know, if you had, that is, come out, in high school or even earlier, even if it was just to me, I would have had your back the entire way. I knew and I was ready to be there for you."

Kurt wiped at his eyes with his free hand and said, "Thanks, Dad," and this time it wasn't sarcastic. Then Kurt laughed to himself. "Blaine said you knew."

"This is the second time you've mentioned this Blaine kid," Burt commented, and he had a wise tone to his voice.

"He was really just my friend back on Thanksgiving, but now…"

"Now?" Burt prodded.

"Now," Kurt repeated, "He's my boyfriend."

"Does he treat you right?" Burt asked, and Kurt thought this would be the first thing he asked.

"Yes. Dad, he's…" Kurt trailed off, but he was struggled for the perfect poetic metaphor to explain _Blaine,_ but settled with "everything." That didn't really explain or mean much, and maybe it was a little too early in the relationship to claim this, but Dad seemed to understand him. In fact, they seemed to understand each other more than they ever had before if his dad's satisfied "Good" meant anything.

Endnote: Please review and tell me what you thought. This took so long to write.


	5. The One Where Rachel is Kurt's Friend

Aki - I have actually had this written like a week and a half after the last chapter was uploaded, but I just had it sitting on my computer, un-proofread. Well, here is finally is. Dont hate me. I am back at school for my senior year, so updates will be slower. Also, no matter what symbols I use as scene breaks, they disappear when I upload it and I am saying f-it, I am too lazy to put them all back in at this point.

Last point, I have a few ideas left, but if you have any suggestions, recommendations, or requests please feel free to drop them in a review and I will consider them. Just a reminder, I am trying not to go too AU (nothing in middle-earth, outer space, or the 1940s, ect.). Anyway, hope you enjoy.

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><p>Chapter title: The One Where Rachel is Kurt's Friend (Whether He Likes It or Not)<p>

Characters: Kurt, Burt, Rachel, Rachel's Dads

Pairings: None

Warnings: None

Timeline: Pre-season 1 / Freshman Year

**The One Where Rachel is Kurt's Friend (Whether He Likes It or Not)**

When Rachel started high school she had big plans. She was going to be popular. She was going to get a boyfriend who would be the perfect complement to a young ingénue such as herself. She was going to showcase her unmatched singing talents thru every facet the school made possible. But two months in, things weren't going so well.

For the first, Rachel wasn't good at making friends, a problem she did not understand. She was intelligent, incredibly talented, outgoing, a go-getter, and her own brand of charming. However, popularity had to be foregone with the lack ability to make friends. For the second, well, a boyfriend she could do without as she focused on her music. For the third, McKinley barely had any opportunities for singers such as herself. The so-called glee club was a floundering mess under Mr. Ryerson and the drama club didn't perform musicals, which was dreadful.

Rachel had to mentally rewrite her high school plans under such stifling circumstances. She would have to use the oppression of her youth to inspire her to fly to new heights the moment her cage was opened. She typed this up and printed it out on her own special purple with gold star border stationary and taped it on the ceiling over her bed so she would see it every night when she fell to sleep and every morning when she awoke.

There was that Mercedes girl who Rachel had overheard singing before. However, after a few conversations in their shared history classes, Rachel determined that Mercedes really didn't appreciate show tunes enough. Tina who stuttered and was by herself a lot was another potential candidate. Rachel didn't know much about her, as she was so quiet, but Rachel was talkative, so it would balance out. However, whenever Rachel tried to approach her in the hallway, she ran away. She had overhead that Artie boy humming on his way to class, so he promised to have a nice voice (of course, having a good-but-not-as-good-as-hers singing voice was an important requirement for this best friend position), but he had all his friends from AV Club and didn't need her.

Then she saw Kurt Hummel get thrown into a dumpster, and she thought she might have found the perfect candidate.

Kurt would be a good best friend. He was short. Not as short as her and he would probably grow eventually but complimentary heights would mean easier communication. He was also an outcast, if being tossed in the dumpster by the football team was any indication of popularity, so they could suffer the odds together. He was gay, most likely, which meant (a) there would be no romantic tension, (b) there was a high possibility he enjoyed show tunes, and (c) of all the people in this school, she having two gays dads, would be the best at understanding him.

Kurt had just been thrown in the dumpster for the first time. He said _first_ because Jacob Ben Israel had been thrown in three times in these first two months of freshman year, so Kurt doubted it was just a one-time hazing ritual.

He was of the mind that he was just too fabulous for this school. And his ¾ sleeve periwinkle sweater was definitely too fabulous for yesterday lunch's empty milk cartoons. Thankfully, most of the garbage was properly bagged. Unthankfully, the dumpster was barely filled, he was very short, and properly bagged or not, this place still smelled like rotten eggs and rust. He piled some of the garbage bags in hopes of making a climbable staircase of trash.

He started up when a small, tan hand— a girl's hand— peaked over the lip. He didn't know how helpful she would be to pulling him out, but this was an occasion where the thought counted. He hadn't made a friend in this school yet, so it was moderately comforting to know some anonymous person cared enough not to leave him in a dumpster.

He took the hand, but he ended up having to support his own weight on his other hand and legs but the hand and the person it was attached to prevented him from falling on his face or ass when he had to drop down.

A short brunette girl in a horrible plaid skirt, argyle knee highs, saddle shoes, and reindeer sweater was smiling, too widely, at him.

"Hi, I'm—" she began.

"Rachel Berry," Kurt interrupted, filling in for her.

"You know who I am!" Rachel considered that maybe she had underestimated her popularity after all. Perhaps she silently was the Queen Bee of the less popular.

"You're very… loud," Kurt said. Rachel Berry made herself known, if you wanted to know her or not.

"I aim to be very outgoing."

"You succeed."

"Thank you!" Rachel said with a big smile and her hands placed jauntily on her hips.

Kurt wanted to ask "Who are you?" or point out that he wasn't complimenting her, but refrained. It wouldn't be prudent to insult his single ally at his school, even if insulting was his first instinct, a defense mechanism, that he had to force back.

"Thanks for your help," said Kurt, cutting this interaction short. "But I need to be getting to class."

Rachel glanced around. The parking lot was void of students save them. She turned her attention back to where Kurt was to suggest they walk together, and she might have even linked arms with him in full girlfriends' action, but Kurt was already walking away.

She was a little frustrated at herself for not brining up their pending bff-ness for she was distracted with his recognition of her. However, at least she had broken the ice.

Kurt knew that when he had gotten into the lunch line he was by himself. He had made a habit of showing up to lunch ten minutes late, after the hustle had died down and most everyone was seated. This resulted in him not being shoved in the lunch line or sitting down at a presumed empty table only for some brute to bang his lunch tray down and tell him that table was taken five minutes later. This happened once than once the first week of school and Kurt had adapted.

However, by the time he got to the end of the line, he had been latched onto by a Rachel Berry, who was chattering to him the whole time he was making his food selections about the cafeteria's distinct lack of vegan and kosher options.

She then grabbed him by his elbow and led him over to her lunch table, which was empty except for a floral pattern, vinyl lunchbox Kurt was sure when meant for a second grade girl. Actually, he thought he had one like it when he was in second grade.

Somehow, he ended up in a chair across from her. He was used to eating lunch alone while listening to his iPod. He wasn't sure if this was an improvement. It was two loners eating together versus one loser (him) eating alone. It was also Broadway versus Rachel Berry talking.

For lack of anything else to do, Kurt stabbed a fork into his salad— almost everything else offered had been deep fried and Kurt did wish to live past age thirty-five— and began to eat. As Rachel finished whatever she was saying about the drama club not utilizing her talent— she was an actress?— she got out a plastic container of cottage cheese. Kurt grimaced. Cottage cheese was both gross to watch someone eat and not vegan, but he decided not to point either out.

"So," Rachel said, halfway thru the lunch slot. "I think we should be best friends."

Kurt blinked and then said, "I don't think that is how 'best friends' work. You don't just… announce it and make it so."

"Then how does it work?" she asked, or was it a challenge?

"Well," Kurt started, not believing he would have to explain this. But Rachel seemed not to be the type of girl who had a best friend some second grade (where her lunch box was from). When you did just announce it and make it so. "You have friends and the person who it closest to you is your best friend."

"So you start as normal friends and then work up to besties?"

Kurt opened his mouth to say that was not what he meant, but Rachel kept plowing on, "That'll work perfectly. We can be friends, and as you don't have any other friends—"

"Hey!" Kurt protested.

"—and neither do I – we become best friends!"

Kurt sighed heavily and plopped his forehead into his palm, elbow on the table. He shook his head, but Rachel was too busy drawing out a flow chart of their friendship in her notebook.

Rachel walked through the front door, closed it, and twirled back around with an exaggerated flourish. She sighed in a happy, dreamy way and let her backpack slip from her shoulders to a spot on the carpet next to the couch. She skipped into the kitchen to get a snack.

Her Papa was in there. She knew he was home; his car had been in the driveway. Daddy was still out though.

"Hello, Darling, How was school?"

"Wonderful. I made a new friend."

Kurt walked through the front door of his house and left out an exhausted breath. He dropped his satchel to the floor; his shoulder hurt from carrying so many books. His dad was home early; Kurt had seen his truck outside.

Kurt trudged into the kitchen. His dad was standing at the microwave, watching popcorn pop.

"Hey, Kid," Burt said. "How was school?"

Kurt just shrugged.

The next morning, Kurt was checking his hair in the mirror in his locker when Rachel came up behind him.

"Hi!" she said and Kurt jumped.

"Oh my Gaga, Berry. What're you trying to do?" He had a hand pressed against his chest as he tried to calm his rushed breathing.

"Do you like Broadway?" she asked,

"Do I breathe?" he responded with a haughty disdain.

"Favorite?"

"_Wicked_. But my favorite movie musical is _The Sound of Music._"

"Hmm." Rachel nodded smugly in approval.

"And you?" Kurt said, looking down at her as much as he could look down at her.

"Oh, _Wicked_ as well, thought _West Side Story _might be my favorite musical made into a movie, Both Idina Menzel and Natalie Wood are Jewish idols of mine. And Barbra Streisand too, of course."

Kurt had to grudgingly admit that Rachel had good taste, even if his preference was for Christen Chenoweth and Julie Andrews. But that was details.

Later that day, she joined him on a crowded walk down the hall between second and third period, telling his she had memorized his schedule.

Kurt wondered if this constituted as stalking and why he felt a little flame of contentment – or was it, Gaga forbid, affection?— that someone actually wanted to hang out with this much. So when he saw Rachel wave to him, very enthusiastically, from across the cafeteria, and he had a choice of sitting at a clear table nearby and pretend to ignore her, or join her, he joined her.

Rachel thought Kurt was a good friend. He was as knowledgeable as her, if not more— but she would never admit that— about musicals. He, like her, was intelligent and cared about school in a way which was dedicated, but not quite to full-blow nerd level. He was also snarky and sarcastic and she couldn't always tell when he was being serious. And other times he said things to her that secretly hurt her feelings and her cheerful expression would flicker and her shoulders would drop, but she wouldn't say anything. She didn't want to start a fight. That was unlike her. She wasn't afraid of confrontation. Confrontation seemed to dog her footsteps. It kind of surprised her how many times people took issue with her. Regardless, with Kurt, now in the first two weeks of their friendship, she was afraid to be friendless. And really she knew Kurt was too. She could see that flicker in his eye sometimes, even as he cut her with his carelessly sharp words. He was lonely and scared and had as many buried self esteem issues as her. Lashing out with his claws was the only defense he had.

At first Kurt was fascinated with Rachel and a bit flattered with her attention. That quickly died away as he realized every whispered thing he heard about her was pretty much true. She was annoying, abrasive, and incredibly big-headed. But, as he was the only McKinley High student to spend more than a couple minutes with her, he also knew she wasn't like that all the time. She was vulnerable and unsure in the way that most teenagers were but in a way that increased at least twofold in those who were friendless and didn't consider themselves attractive. (He got it; he was there.) He had also gleaned that her dreams lived in New York. They were really more similar than he would like to admit.

Plus, she didn't seem to think he was gay, or least she didn't treat him different for it, which was a first.

How Rachel managed to drag him off on Friday after school to get ice cream he would never know, because, hey, empty calories. Luckily, nonfat frozen yogurt was an option. He knew in the back of his mind, where he was secretly self-aware and unwilling to think too much about it, that he shouldn't care as much as he did about appearances. But looking good made him feel good about himself and there was very little else in this town that made him feel good about himself.

Rachel was eating a cup of strawberry (again, not vegan) with rainbow sprinkles out of a paper bowl. After a particularly big bite, she put down her plastic spoon on the table and said, "I think we have reached the point in our friendship were it would be appropriate to invite each other to our homes, so I would like to invite you to my house! How about tonight?"

"Can't, my dad and I have this tradition…Friday night dinners. We never miss them for anything."

"Oh, okay," said Rachel, sounding down-trodden. "What about your mom?"

Kurt paused, "What?"

"You said it was your and your dad's tradition. What about your mom?"

Kurt's jaw clenched, and he said, "She's dead."

"I'm sorry," Rachel half whispered.

"It was a long time ago," he responded. Rachel wasn't dumb enough to think that it meant, "I'm okay," rather, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Well," said Rachel trying to return to her cheery disposition, "Maybe another time. Saturday even. Well, I'd have to ask my dads."

Kurt looked up from the table. "Dad…s?" he asked, with a particular emphasis on the _s._

"Oh, you don't know. I have two gay fathers." She said this proudly.

Kurt ducked his head and had a million thoughts running through his head, including "Rachel is one friend I will never lose if I ever decide to come out" and "why would they ever want to live in Lima?" and "they might be the only other gay people in this town" and even "do I want to meet the only other gay people in this town?"

So Kurt said, "Yeah, maybe Saturday."

Saturday didn't pan out, but the next weekend did. He knocked on the door at three in the afternoon. It was opened by an average height, balding, and distinctly Jewish-looking man with large glasses. Rachel had volunteered enough information about herself that he now knew she had been born of a surrogate and she didn't know which of her fathers was her biological one.

This man was taking him in too. All of his 5'6", his purple Marc by Marc Jacobs top, and matching paisley-patterned scarf.

Before he could open his mouth to ask if Rachel was there, the man said, "You must be Kurt."

He invited him in and then called up the stairs, "Rachel, your friend is here!"

Rachel came tromping down the steps in a way that was really loud for such a small person.

"Thanks, Papa," she said and grabbed Kurt around the wrist and led him upstairs.

Her room looked like it belonged to the bastard child of Holy Hobbie and Strawberry Shortcake, but he refrained from saying such.

"I'm really glad you could come over," Rachel said. "Will you be staying for dinner?"

Kurt sat down on the edge of Rachel's bed while Rachel sat on her chair in front of her vanity. "That was the plan."

"Good," Rachel said, "I wanted you to meet Daddy too. He had to go into the office today. He's a lawyer."

"You say that like we're getting married."

"I don't have romantic interest in you. I just thought you would like to meet them, and they you, with you being gay and all."

"I'm not gay," Kurt said, a little too quickly and with a too much shake in his voice.

Rachel cocked her head to the side, and said, "Kurt," in a way that was like "come on."

He looked up at the ceiling then back down.

"Fine. I'm gay. But I haven't told anyone before, so if we could, let's keep it quiet."

Rachel jumped off her stool. "Oh! Oh my!" she gasped out. Kurt was about to ask her what was wrong when she grabbed his hands and said, "We must really be best friends now if I'm the first person you've come out to."

He wanted to point out that she kind of forced him out, but then he realized, that yeah, she had become his best friend whether he liked it or not.

At dinner, Kurt was surprised to find out that Rachel's other father was black, considering Rachel said she didn't know who her biological father was. But that got pushed to the back of his mind. He kept glancing up from his plate to the couple and back to his plate. He didn't want to be caught staring, but it was like an addiction. He needed the glimpses of their calm domesticity. They were the first gay couple he had seen in real life. How one reached over and stole a black olive off the other's salad and earned himself a mock glare in return. How the other scooped the mushrooms out of his spaghetti sauce and delivered them onto his partner's plate. They were such small and mindless things, well-practiced and with little meaning and it was everything Kurt wanted.

The next weekend Rachel came over (invited herself over) Kurt's house. Kurt's dad, Burt— she found the rhyming names endearing— was much more rough around the edges than she expected. He was a big, burly type guy with a simple face and a balding head. He wore plaid and worn blue jeans and a baseball cap.

He asked Kurt if she was his girlfriend on the way in the house. Rachel could tell he was teasing, but Kurt went a little white.

Kurt had a full electronic set up in his basement bedroom. They were planning on a double feature of _Singing in the Rain_ and _Meet Me in St. Louis_. But as they were sitting down on Kurt's couch (and people thought she was spoiled) and he handed her a bowl of popcorn, she said, "You haven't told your dad you're gay."

Kurt tensed for a second before leaned back into the couch. "I told you, you were the first person I've told."

"Are you going to tell him? Come out?"

"A lot of people don't come out in high school."

"That's not an answer."

Kurt sighed through his hair. "You met my dad for like two seconds and even you can probably tell, I'm not the son he wanted… we have those Friday night dinners because if we didn't force ourselves to eat together, we would never have anything to do with one another. If I told him I was gay—" Kurt bit his lip and shook his head.

"So, he's homophobic?"

"… He hasn't said anything in particular, but come on. He wants a son that watched football, not a son…" He waved a hand at the black-screened television.

"Who watches musicals," Rachel supplied. "The thing is, he already has a son who watches musicals. And he's given him a TV and DVD player and surround sound system to do it with."

"So he doesn't have to listen to them."

"That's one way to look at it," Rachel said, but it was clear that she believed her interpretation was better.

Burt ordered in pizza for them for dinner and he got out paper plates so they could take it to Kurt's room to eat while continuing their marathon. While Rachel was plating her a self a slice of veggie (Kurt's pizza order of choice; Burt preferred pepperoni) she said, "This is nice. My TWO GAY DADS almost never order in pizza."

Kurt suppressed a groan and ducked his head, busying himself with slicing a lemon for iced tea. He knew what Rachel was doing. And his dad wouldn't be outright rude, but Kurt was waiting, shoulders already shrunken, prepared to ream Rachel out for this as soon as they were alone.

There was a few seconds of silence and then Burt said, "They don't?"

"Oh, no," Rachel said, turning to him and smiling that big, sort of charming, sort of evil smile of hers. "Dad and Papa love to cook. Although, I would prefer they order in more. There is only so much experimental French cuisine I can take." Then she laughed like she was in an old movie, but it ended up sounding fake.

"I'm completely useless in the kitchen," Burt said. "Isn't that right, Kurt," and he lightly wacked his son in the arm with his flimsy, empty paper plate.

His dad was grinning, apparently nonplused by Rachel's gay dads pronouncement. Kurt managed out a shaky, "Yeah, useless."

Rachel winked at Kurt in a really obvious manner.

Once they were back downstairs, Kurt hissed at her, "What was that?"

"That," Rachel said in a superior manner, sitting down and crossing her legs pristinely. "Was me proving that your dad is fine with gay people. _You_ weren't looking, but I was— like a hawk. Not a flinch, not a twitch of the jaw, nothing. And trust me, I've gotten my share of… negative comments about my dads." She then became somber before saying, "I might not be gay, but I get it, probably more than most straight people can."

Kurt would have hugged her if he wasn't too busy being pissed at her.

Next Saturday, Kurt was back at Rachel's because apparently that was there thing now, alternating weekend visits. The first thing Rachel said to Kurt, when they were locked up in her room, was, "Have you come out to your dad yet?"

It had become Rachel's new mission to get Kurt enough confidence to come out to his father and eventually the world.

Kurt wasn't sure if these wore the actions of a friends or an enemy (though assuredly of a crazy person).

"Rachel," he said, "Drop it." They already had a lengthy conversation this about how people came out in their own time. Rachel was convinced his time was now.

"But he'll be fine with it—"

"You don't know that," Kurt said, standing up suddenly. "And—" Kurt said as Rachel opened her mouth to retort, "Your plan from last week was hardy as 'foolproof' as you keep purporting."

Kurt finished with a huff and turned his back on her, arms crossed over his chest. He heard her stand up from the bed.

"Kurt," she said tentatively into the air.

He neither responded nor rejected her. She continued. "Why are you so scared?"

Kurt turned back to face her. He had a hundred reasons why, but he narrowed it down to these few. A shrug and "People are mean enough to me already. I don't want to lose the only family I have left…sometimes I don't think it's worth it."

"Coming out," she asked on a breath.

"Being gay… I'm just so alone, Rachel. I might be the only gay kid in our school. Certainly, the only one like me—"

"Flaming?"

"I was going to say 'fashion-forward'."

"It's the same thing."

"Regardless, I'm not even going to get the chance to have a stupid, high school romance. Even go on a date… Plus, you're the only person to be nice to me in years. I've been that weird, girly boy my whole life, a long time after it stopped being cute." He gulped. "I just feel so…hopeless."

Kurt wanted to sink in on himself and disappear, because this is more vulnerability than he had ever admitted to anyone and it made him feel transparent.

Rachel put a hand on his arm and said, "Come on."

They ended up seated on the second step down from the top of the staircase, looking through the rungs to where the two Mr. Berry's sat watching television together, the one's arm rested on the back of the couch behind the other.

"There it is, Kurt," Rachel whispered to him, "Everything you want. Love, family, a life. And, yeah, you're going to have it a lot harder than me, but they had it even harder than you. But they made it, and so will you."

Rachel got up, but Kurt stayed for a little while, forehead pressed against the banister, trying to compose himself.

When he rejoined Rachel ten minutes later, she said to him, "I'm sorry for pressuring you. Take as long as you need."

On Sunday, Kurt was curled up on the couch in the living room doing his homework. His dad walked in, pointed at the TV, and asked, "Do you mind?"

Kurt shook his head no. Burt took a seat in his recliner and started channel surfing, landing an on episode of _Ice Road Truckers_.

"So," he said at the first commercial break. "That Rachel girl is, uh, interesting."

Kurt chuckled. "She's crazy, but she means well."

Burt nodded at the TV screen. "I don't know much about 'em, but her dads sound nice."

It was probably because he had been holding it in so long, but that was when Kurt started to bawl.

Burt jumped up from his seat. "Oh my God. Are you okay?"

Kurt had hidden his face in his hands and shook his head, then nodded, then shook, then nodded again and then said in an anguished tone, "I don't know!"

Burt stood awkwardly next to the couch, hand hovering unsure over Kurt's shoulder. He finally decided to take a seat on the cushion next to Kurt.

"Can you— uh— tell me what's wrong?" he said, and because he needed to do something, he put an arm around Kurt's shoulders.

That must have been the ticket, because Kurt removed his hands about an inch so that his voice wouldn't be muffled. "I'm gay. I really, really gay." Then his hands were back on his face and the sobbing renewed.

"Oh, Kurt," Burt said, and he pulled him closer into his side. He decided he'd let the boy cry himself out and then they could talk more in-depth.

There was a frantic banging on Rachel's front door. She ran down the steps. Her dads were out grocery shopping. She opened the door and Kurt launched himself at her. His arms were cinched tight around her; her arms were pinned to her side. This was the first time he had hugged her.

"You were right, Rach. You were right."

She reached up to pat him in the back.

"About what?"

"About my dad. I told him I was gay and he was good with it. Told me he loved me—" Kurt sniffled, "And that he knew since I asked for heels for my birthday when I was three."

With that, Kurt rested his head on Rachel's shoulder and cried some more.

The Misters Berry came in not long later. Rachel had gotten Kurt over to the couch, and he was there in the post-sobbing sniffling-and-hiccupping phase.

"What's going on?" Rachel's papa asked.

"Kurt just came out to his dad," Rachel said with perk.

"And is everything…okay?" her other father asked, eyes going to the red-eyed Kurt.

"Oh, yes. It actually went really well."


	6. The One Where Burt Doesn't Accept Kurt

AN: This chapter deals with some heavy, darker themes (i.s. suicide). If this is unsettling to you, do not read it. However, I hope I dealt with the topic maturely and does justice to the complexity and the hardship of the issue and people who are in these and similar situations.

Chapter title: The One Where Burt Didn't Accept Kurt

Characters: Burt, Kurt, Ken Tanaka, Will, Emma, French Teacher OC

Pairings: None

Warnings: Breaks the structure of other chapters. Jerk! Burt, but he gets better. Suicidal thoughts. Suicide Attempt. Language.

Timeline: Vaguely Season 1

**The One Where Burt Didn't Accept Kurt**

"I'm not sure I'm okay with it."

Kurt felt his heart drop in his chest. Instantly, a million feelings of regret filled him from toe to head, like grains falling in an hourglass.

"No, I'm really not."

"Dad," he squeaked. He didn't know how large his eyes were in his head.

Kurt had tried, really had, to be the son his father wanted. He watched football with his father, albeit silently, uninterested, and forgetting who they were cheering for. He toned down his clothes. He bypassed every club in school he was actually vaguely interested in because they wouldn't be the things his dad would be interested in. He learned at a very young age that the things he liked weren't acceptable.

But he was tired; tired of lying tired of not having even the littlest piece of himself be real. Tired of not trusting his father.

Burt closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned his back on his son. Kurt was frozen still, straight-backed, standing, but wanting nothing more than to curl into a fetal position on the floor and maybe puke.

Burt dropped his hand, but didn't turn back to face Kurt. "Are you sure?" he asked and his voice was rough as gravel.

Kurt knew it was an out. Say he wasn't sure. Say he was just confused. Say it was a joke. Kurt swallowed the knot in his throat. He wished he was the type of person to go back on something like this.

"I'm sure," he whispered, and his dad heard.

"I think it would be best if you went and stayed— ah — somewhere else… for a while."

It was like a punch to the gut, and Kurt drew a sharp breath. His dad was wording it nicely, but it amounted to the same thing.

"Dad—" Kurt started again.

"I need to take a drive," Burt announced and he crossed the living room in three wide steps. The front door banged close after Burt like a gunshot.

Kurt was shaking and jelly-legged. He didn't know how he managed to get down to his room without tripping.

His school satchel was already packed. He added his laptop and the chargers to everything electronic he owned. He got the match set of rolling luggage he got by request last Christmas out of his closet. It was stupid. He shouldn't take all of them. He tossed the largest onto his bed, unzipped it, and began tossing in clothes. The necessities first— socks, boxers, t-shirts, then his pants, then a few jackets, two pairs of pajamas. Then he shoved in his sneakers and the only pair of designer boots he owned. There would be more room if he took time to roll his clothes, but Kurt couldn't stand to face another rejection when his father got home.

Before he zipped up, he picked up a framed photo from his bedside table— it was of he and Burt and his late mother on Kurt's fifth birthday. They were all smiling. He pressed it onto his chest for a moment before carefully placing on top of his pile of clothes.

Five minutes later, the suitcase was in the trunk of Kurt's navigator and his satchel between the front seats. He drove to nowhere. He had no family in this town (and of he did, they would be of similar feelings to his dad). He had no friends. Sure, he had one or two people he talked to casually at school, but no one close enough he could ask to stay in their home. Eventually, after two hours he didn't realize had gone by, he parked in a dark corner of a Wal-Mart parking lot laid his head on the steering wheel, and concentrated on breathing.

…

The sun woke Kurt up the next morning. His neck hurt and his whole body was built of tense muscles. He climbed into the backseat, dug some wrinkled clothes out of his bag, and got changed. He wasn't hungry. He got to the school parking lot an hour before first period. He didn't go inside until warning bell rang.

He went through his whole day. He felt like zombie. No one asked him if anything was wrong.

He bought dinner at a McDonalds drive-thru and returned to the Wal-Mart lot. Did his homework in the backseat. Slept there too.

He was sick of his car by the next morning. He went through the motions at school again. After school, he went to the public library, took a table by the wall, and used the nearby outlet to charge his phone. No one had called. The only text he had in two days was a spam, telemarketer message.

Kurt weighed the phone in his hand. He wanted to call his father. Tell him he was sorry. Beg for him to let him come home. Kurt turned off his phone instead.

...

This routine continued the next day and thru the weekend. When Kurt turned to school on Monday, he looked distinctly— crushed. Pale and gaunt and almost smeared around the edges.

When he got slammed into a locker and called a fag before the first bell, he flinched, but he didn't think it was anything out of the ordinary.

Then he was locker-slammed again between first and second, with a slur attached. Later he was called a homo in a whisper as he was brushed past. A group of Cheerios were whispering during lunch and peaking over at the empty-except-for-him lunch table. Once, he ducked into the bathroom to make sure no one had tapped a sign to his back or he had accidently put on a rainbow stripped shirt (not that he would own anything that tacky).

Kurt didn't figure out what made him such a prime target until the end of the school day, as he was walking across the parking lot, and got corned in by some jocks at the dumpster.

"So," said a particularly Cro-Magnum senior that been elected to talk, or was the unofficial leader. Kurt didn't know. He glanced around; he was circled in. "We always suspected you were the kind of guy who liked it up the ass, but now we know for sure." The other jocks either leered or laughed. The Cro-Magnum cracked his knuckles in a casual, threatening manner. "And were gonna show you what happens to fucking queers around here."

Two unknown jocks came in and grabbed his arms. Kurt struggled in a useless, perfunctory manner. He was just so tired.

"We're going to throw you out." Cro-Magnum said as another one of the bunch swooped down and snatched Kurt's ankles. "Just like your dad did."

The crash of garbage into his ribs was nothing compared to the crash of the words. There were howls of laughter, but they were muffled, as if heard through water. Kurt's head went fussy and his throat tightened. He had just enough sense to roll to his side before he puked.

After, he rolled away from the vomit, onto his back, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. They knew. They all knew.

Kurt couldn't imagine his dad spreading this around. Maybe a nosey neighbor gleaned the information when they realized Kurt Hummel wasn't coming or going from his residence and started asking questions. Maybe his father confided in someone that turned out to be loose-lipped. From there it spread and some parent told their kid or some kid overheard their parent gossiping on the phone. And now, they all knew. And if today were any indication, this wasn't something they would let him forget.

To top it all off, he needed to climb out of this dumpster and do to his home that is his car. He needed to find a decent laundromat. His gas tank was half-empty and his wallet even more. His world was ending.

It took all is will power not to puke again.

…

The rest of the week followed like that. He got shoved in the hallways, had names called at his back, and was sneeringly reminded how even his daddy didn't want him.

The breaking point came that Thursday. He had a slushie thrown in his face. It was cold and shocking, like being punched by a block of ice. It stung his eyes and ran down is shirt and into his pants. It wasn't even his first. No, he had gotten one earlier in the year by a freshman hockey player as his initiation toss. That hadn't been personal. That was just loser-cool guy border lines being drawn. This time, it was for a reason. This was because he was a fag and not even his father was on his side.

A whole hallway full of people saw, and none of them did anything. No one offered him a tissue to wipe his eyes, or picked up the binder he had dropped and handed it to him, or led him to the bathroom to get cleaned up, or even said, "Sorry your life sucks."

He couldn't eat without feeling sick to his stomach; he heaved at least twice a day. He knew he was getting sick, but he did nothing to fight it.

If something had been different…if he had his dad back, if he had a single shoulder to cry on, if someone offered that tissue, an olive branch, he wouldn't have come to this conclusion that he had nothing. Even more, nothing to live for.

…

He skipped the rest of the day. He cleaned up in the school bathroom. Changed clothes in the back seat of his car. He drove to a CVS and used his last five dollar bill to get what he needed.

Their custodian always left the backdoor unlocked when he was cleaning. Kurt overhead Principle Figgins scolding the man about it once. That's how Kurt snuck into the building at six-thirty, long after the sports teams were done with their practices and teachers had vacated. Kurt slipped into the nearest boys bathroom— one already cleaned, and waited for a half hour to hear the custodian put his supplies into the closet across the hall and then footsteps disappearing towards the backdoor.

Kurt went out into the hall, tapping his pocket, contemplating where he should do it. He decided on the school because he wanted his body to be found. There was nothing more depressing than the notion that if he killed himself in his car, and his body would sit there, decaying away, with no one noticing he was missing for days— weeks even.

Some sort of vindictive streak wanted them to see, to know, what they had done to him.

Now where in the school was the question Kurt contemplated as he paced the halls. The auditorium, maybe, center-stage, in some sort of morbid swan song? The entry hall, where he would be found right away and no one could avoid the fact of his memory haunting the place? In the middle of the hall?

Kurt walked by a particular door, and he knew. The locker room. He had avoided the gym class all this week by going to the nurse's office. He had looked sick enough for her to never call him out on it.

He pushed thru the door and took a seat on the floor against the wall. The locker room was the second home to his prime tormentors. Maybe it was poetic justice, or maybe Kurt just wanted to get this over with.

He pulled a packet of razors from his jeans pocket and tipped it open. They glinted up at him, winking almost. He selected one carefully between his fingers and set the package aside on the floor. He had worn short sleeves today on purpose.

Kurt hadn't wanted this. He had dreams. Ones that sang on Broadway, or any stage for that matter. Ones that involved holding hands, and first and second and third kisses, and the stomach flutters of love. Ones that involved bright lights, New York City, and actually graduating high school.

Now he was going to be another gay teen suicide. No one knew him well enough to see him more than a victim statistic. But it was too late. Living hurt too much.

…

What Kurt didn't know was that the custodian, Mr. Johansen, wasn't the last person in the school. Rather, Coach Tanaka was. He had fallen asleep watching tapes of the competition and Mr. Johansen, who had a vendetta against him— that Ken Tanaka was completely unaware of— and didn't wake him up.

Ken awoke in his office chair after a particularly rigorous snore. He groaned, looked at the wall clock, and swore. He grabbed his car keys and headed out of his office, which was attached to the boy's locker room.

He fumbled with locking his office door and turned around.

"Oh, shit," he said to no one when he spied the unconscious boy on the floor bleeding. "Shit," he said again, and then went into action.

He used discarded practice jerseys to tie up Kurt's wrists and called 911.

The ambulance showed up and the stretcher was brought in, and he was still breathing, just barely, oh god.

"What's his name?" one of the paramedics asked.

"I—I don't know." Ken felt like a horrible human being. He knew he had seen this kid around the school. Probably had him a gym class once…but there were so many students, always coming and going, and if they weren't on one of his teams…

The paramedic made a subtle face, and then said, "You probably saved his life." Then she ran off after her fellow emergence response workers.

…

When Mr. Schuester walked into the teacher's lounge on Friday morning, the mood was surprisingly dower. The teachers were seated in little clumps, unsmiling, which was strange. Teachers tend to be just as 'thank God it's Friday' as the students.

"What's wrong?" he asked aloud, approaching the round tables that held Emma, Ken, and Katherine— the French teacher. He pulled out the open chair and sat down.

"A student attempted suicide on school property last night," Emma said to him with wide eyes and a quiet voice. "Ken had stayed late and found him. Called 911."

"Oh my god. Are they alright?"

"He's alive," Emma responded.

Will rubbed his chin and heaved a sigh. "Which student?"

"Kurt Hummel," Ken said, starting at a full mug of coffee between his hands.

Will blinked. "He's in my Spanish class. Smart kid." And he had been looking… ill lately, hadn't he? Why hadn't Will said anything…but was sickness enough to peak his suspicions to think it was anything over than another cold or flu going around the school?

"He's a French student too. One of my best," Katherine added, quietly, a forced, tight smile, lasting only a second, on her face.

"He's taking two languages? That's ambitious."

Katherine opened her mouth to agree, but Ken suddenly stood up, his chair squeaking on the floor, and stomped out of the room.

"What's wrong with him?" Will asked.

"He feels guilty," Emma said, "He was telling me earlier."

"Why? He's the one that saved Kurt."

"Well, he's not accepting the hero accolade quite so easily," said Katherine. "Considering it was his students—"

"That's why he feels guilty," Emma interrupted. She turned to Will. "A lot of the football players have been bullying Kurt—especially lately, because of the rumors and Ken… hadn't done anything to try and stop them."

"Rumors," Will said in a whisper. He had to admit, he was often out of the loop when it came to the school's hot gossip. He didn't hang out much with his coworkers, because Terri liked him to spend as much time as possible with her.

"That he's gay," Katherine said with a little shrug. "And I just heard from," she nodded her head to a well-know gossip monger among the faculty. "That it was worse than that… apparently, he had a fight with his father and," she paused and cleared her throat to keep her composure, "and has been living in his car for two weeks." Katherine then blinked several times fast, stood up, and said, "excuse me, I need to—" She didn't finish, but walked very quickly out of the room.

"She feels at fault," Emma commented. "She saw him every day and never noticed anything was wrong."

Will nodded. Yeah, he got it. He felt the same.

"And I guess I do too," Emma said. "I'm a counselor. I'm supposed to be here to help the students. And I didn't even realize… And Kurt didn't feel comfortable enough to come to me."

Will put an arm around her shoulders and Emma didn't even care that she didn't know the last time he washed his hands.

…

The first thing Kurt saw when he woke up was light. He didn't believe in God, so whether he had been wrong or right about the whole atheism thing, he was pretty sure he couldn't be in heaven.

"Oh, you're awake."

Kurt turned his head on his pillow to see a brunette woman in magenta scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck.

"How are you feeling, Kurt? It is Kurt, right? You didn't have any id. We had to get hold of a yearbook to find out who you were."

"No," Kurt said in a croak.

"You're not Kurt?"

Kurt shook his head. "No… I wasn't supposed to live."

He sat up in bed and drew his knees up. "I was supposed to die." And Kurt started to fill up with the congestion of almost tears.

A young black nurse in dark purple scrubs peaked her head in the door. "His dad's here. Just finished talking with Doctor Scotts. He wants to visit."

Kurt's head shot up from his knees. "No. Nonononono. I don't— He can't—" Kurt couldn't finish. He could breathe either. It was like there were steel bands around his chest.

"He's having a panic attack," shouted one of the nurses, rushing to the side of his bed.

A hand on Kurt's back was pushing him forward. "Lean over, Kurt," said a voice. "Just concentrate. Inhale. Exhale."

But he couldn't concentrate. He blacked out.

When Kurt came to, he remembered what happened before. Before it had been a sort of gray outside the window…dawn maybe, but now it was fairly bright. And now, someone was holding his hand. He shifted his head and with half-lidded eyes peered to his who it was. His heart skipped. It was his dad, and he was staring blearily, and glazed-eyed, at his keens. But he must have heard something, a creak of the mattress, a shift in Kurt's breathing, because he looked up and caught Kurt's eye.

Kurt wanted to look away. He felt exposed. He must be such a disappointment to his dad. Gay, and now a suicidal mess.

"Oh, Kurt," Burt said, and he rubbed his few hand over his head and gripped Kurt's hand tighter. "God, Kurt… I'm sorry. I'm sorry so, so sorry. I never wanted—" he paused and gulped and…was he crying? Kurt wasn't sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"You can be gay. I don't get it, but if it's who you are— it's fine. You can come home. And we'll make this work. And… I'm sorry. I was an idiot. I love you."

Kurt closed his eyes and opened them, refocusing on the man before him. His eyes were red and ringed with bags. Kurt believed him. There were so many rips in their relationship, but this was the life line he needed to anchor him to the world.

…

Kurt was home. His room was as he left it. Even the closet doors left open and his drawers ransacked through from the desperate day a month ago when he had hurriedly packed his belongings and ran out of the house. Sometime when he was in the hospital, Dad had found his car and brought it home. It was currently sitting in the driveway, but he wasn't allowed to drive it, doctor's orders. Apparently he was still too much of a suicide risk to be given that amount of unsupervised freedom. It really wasn't that much of a drag, though; Kurt didn't have anywhere he wanted to go.

He had gotten out of the hospital today, once they had taken him off suicide watch. Apparently telling a nurse you had wanted to die wasn't conducive to getting out of the hospital quickly.

Kurt sat down on the edge of his bed. He didn't feel like cleaning. Didn't have the energy for it. He didn't feel like he had the energy for much lately.

Things had changed. Dad accepted him, at least enough to bring him home. He had tried to talk about the topic of homosexuality with a Kurt in the hospital a few times, but both were awkward about it and some things his dad said came across as immensely uniformed and even slightly homophobic, but he was trying. Kurt had appointments with a therapist every Tuesday by himself and Friday with his dad, so they could both work through there issues.

Kurt knew he had to go back to school eventually, although no one, not his dad or his doctors or the school, was pressuring him about it. He couldn't imagine the rumors floating around or how behind he was in all his classes. It was all so overwhelming and sometimes he wasn't sure if he could reintegrate into when he had tried to forcefully withdrawal and…

"Kurt, dinner's ready!" his dad shouted down the steps. Kurt took a deep breath. Things were messed up. He was messed up. But things were getting better, a little at a time.

…

AN: So rereading this, the language seems a bit clipped, but maybe that was an unconscious stylist choice. Also, this is my third (?) attempt to see if my scene breaks work. Also also, I guess I wanted to comment on one aspect of this AU, which is that Kurt really could not be in Glee Club for this storyline to work. Yes, one way or the other, he would have been devastated that his dad rejected him, but if he those friends to rely on, I think they would have helped him avoid the suicide route.

Again, feel free to drop suggested Aus in reviews. I have a few ideas, one involved the Hudmels (mainly Carol) tentatively titled _The One Where Burt Met Carol Earlier_; maybe one with Mr. Schue being generally less oblivious and more awesome; one that is similar to this idea (Burt rejecting Kurt and then getting better) but involving Rachel, her dads, Dalton, and Blaine; a cuter, fluffier, generally overly romantic version of _The One Where Blaine Met Kurt Earlier_; and I also really want to do a crossover with Supernatural. So, yeah, tell me what you think.


	7. The One Where Burt Meets Carole Earlier

Chapter title: The One Where Burt Met Carole Earlier

Characters: Burt, Kurt, Carole, Finn

Pairings: Burt/Carole

Warnings: None

Timeline: Pre-Glee, Season1

**The One Where Burt Met Carole Earlier**

"Buddy, I need to talk to you about something." Kurt glanced up at his dad, who was standing, nervous, in the middle of the living room. Kurt, who was curled up on the couch, put a piece of purple ribbon he had been using as a bookmark into the pages of the novel he had been reading and closed the pages.

"Yes, Dad," Kurt said, attentive, blinking up at him with his big eyes.

Burt shuffled the weight between his feet. "I wanted to tell you that I've been seeing someone. Dating, I mean. I didn't bring it up before I knew it was gonna stick, because I didn't want to upset you over nothing. But it is getting kind of serious, so—"

"Dad," Kurt interrupted. "You're rambling."

"Sorry. Are— are you okay with this?"

Kurt chewed on his bottom lip. He knew why his dad was asking. It has only been five years since mom had died, and it had devastated both of them. Then again, it had been _five_ years. Yes, it was still painful, but it wasn't excruciatingly so; rather, it was like a healed over wound that only hurt when you poked at it. Plus, next year Kurt would be going into high school, and after high school, college, hopefully in New York, because he needed to get out of Ohio. He was growing up, and he never wanted to condemn his father to living the rest of his life alone.

"How serious?"

A tension that had been about Burt's shoulders was released and he seemed to sag in relief. "We've been dating for three months." Kurt's eyebrows peaked in surprise. His dad was better at keeping a secret relationship than most teenagers, not that he would know how it was done personally. It would explain all the nights were Burt had worked late or came home for dinner, only to supposedly go back to the shop. "And I think I love her."

That really slammed into Kurt. He hadn't expected it. "Oh."

"That's why I wanted to tell you," Burt said quickly, sensing his son's unease. "So you had some time to think about it and adjust, in case our relationship progressed…further."

_Further?_ Was all Kurt could think. He had already said he was in love. Further was what then? Moving in? Marriage? He hadn't thought of this while he thought of his dad dating. He thought of it distant, outside of their home, but if this woman became a big part of his dad's life, she would become a part of Kurt's by default.

"Okay," Kurt said, trying to sound reassured. His dad bought it, thankfully.

"Good, good," he said, "I better start on dinner." He paused as he was walking out of the room to say, "Oh, by the way, her name's Carole Hudson, and she has a kid in your class… Finn, I think."

Kurt took a sharp intake of breath. Finn Hudson. He knew who that was. The tall kid. He was the first boy in their class to shoot up like a weed and he hadn't stopped growing yet. Kurt had yet to hit his adolescent growth spurt and was tiny, but there were a handful of other boys that were in the same boat, and would go into their high school as short as most of the girls.

Finn Hudson. Kurt never really talked to him, although he was in a few of his classes. He was a bit, well, dumb, but he seemed nice enough, maybe, and Kurt always thought he was a little bit…cute. Not that he would admit that out loud. Not that he would ever admit out loud the things he thought about boys, period. Kurt glanced at the doorway between the living room and the kitchen as though fearful that Burt could hear his thoughts. He didn't know if he could ever work up the nerve to tell his dad.

Two weeks later, Kurt met Carole for the first time. From what he had gleaned from eavesdropped conversations, they decided that it was better to ease their kids into this new situation one step at a time. Finn had been shipped off to his friends for the night, and would meet Burt next weekend, at which time Kurt would probably be left home alone. He had a few girls he sometimes talked to at school, but he really didn't have a friend close enough to spend any significant time over their houses. Not that he would mind being home alone; it was better than having to be babysat by Mrs. Bitner, an old shrew of a woman from down the street. Kurt had been slowly convincing his dad that he was old enough to look after himself, and he was really, at thirteen.

His first impression of Carole was that she really needed a makeover, but under all the denim and the bad haircut, she was pretty. She had brought over a surprisingly good chicken and broccoli casserole she had made at home. Dad supplied all the sides and dessert. By the end of the dinner, Kurt got why dad liked her. She was sweet and pleasant and rough around the edges in that good small town way. There were some bad small town ways Kurt was privy to, so that was saying something. He learned that she was a nurse at Lima General, which was a career he had to respect, caring for people. He learned how she and his dad met at the garage when Carole was having car trouble, but considering his father's lack of social life, he should have figured that. Carole, apparently, had taken to him right away, but Dad had been oblivious to her flirting, both when she dropped off her car and picked it up a day later. So she came back again a week later for an oil change and the week after that to get her tires rotated. He finally figured it out when she came back the next day to get her tires rotated again.

At the end of the evening, Dad walked Carole out to her car and he was taking longer than strictly necessary, so Kurt guessed they were probably kissing. He was kind of glad Dad waited to go outside to do that, because Kurt wasn't sure he was ready to see that, or maybe it was just because it was his dad and he didn't want to think of either of his parents as even vaguely…sexual beings.

When Dad came back in, he came to the kitchen, were Kurt had started to load the dishes into the dishwasher and asked, "So?"

"I like her," Kurt said, not even pausing in his task. He probably would have said he liked her even if he hadn't, because he knew his approval or disapproval could make or break the relationship, because that was the kind of dad he had, even if they were distant sometimes, he put his son first. Yet, Kurt really had liked her. He was probably more relieved than Burt, although better at hiding it.

Three weeks later, they had the ultimate Hummel-Hudson dinner at Breadstix. Finn has awkwardly nodded at Kurt in greeting. Kurt nodded back. For a while the four could sit quietly as the perused the menu, making comments on what looked good. However, it was a short-lived topic of discussion.

Burt and Finn had ordered burgers, because they lacked finesse and fine taste, or that was Kurt's assessment. He and Carole had ordered pasta dishes because they were at a restaurant that was slightly themed around Italian food. Of course, after their menus were taken away and before they had the convenience of being able to stuff food in their mouth as an excuse not to talk, things became silent and awkward.

"So," Carole said, folding her arms on the table top. "Do you two have any classes together?"

"Uhh." That was Finn, as he glanced Kurt like he wasn't sure where to place him. It was embarrassing for Kurt, who knew that Finn was in English, history, and study hall with him without even having to think about it.

"A couple," Kurt said. "This and that."

"It's weird that you guys weren't friends before this," Carole commented.

Finn said nothing. Neither did Kurt. It wasn't weird, not really. They were in different social circles…different social standings. The less said, the better

"And you'll both be going to McKinley next year," said Burt. "Are you excited to go to high school?"

Kurt knew most people dreamed of things changing when they got to high school, but Kurt was pretty sure most things stayed the same. The nerds were the nerds, the jocks the jocks, and the nobodies the nobodies. There were few variations, like girls blossoming into attractiveness shooting up the popularity pole, but unless Kurt suddenly became muscle-bound and was actually interested in playing a sport, he was pretty sure he was settled into the not so cozy spot he would be partitioned in until he left this town for college.

"I can't wait," Finn said. Kurt's eyebrows peaked. It was the first real thing Finn had said all night without it being in a mutter. "I want to try out for the football team."

"You like football?" Burt asked, and he sounded really pleased. And the two launched into discussions of teams, and players, and what position might be best for Finn. Carole was looking on rather pleased, and Kurt guessed she should be to see her serious boyfriend and her son bonding. Kurt had never talked so passionately with this father about anything, Kurt thought. If he had, it had been a one-sided conversation. They just didn't have much in common. He felt like melting away in his seat and disappearing right now.

Two hours later, Burt was unlocking the front door of their house and Kurt was slipping inside, aiming to go down to his basement bedroom as soon as possible.

"Well, that went well, don't you think?" Burt said, pausing Kurt halfway across the living room.

"Yeah," Kurt said, but his voice was hollow-sounding. Dad didn't notice, he was too star-struck and in love and nothing went explicitly _bad_ tonight. Dad certainly had a good time.

Kurt ducked away into the basement before his dad could ask anymore.

A month later Burt and Carole were engaged.

"Really, I think yellow would be the most appropriate color for a summer wedding," Kurt said. Carole and he were sitting at the island in Kurt and Burt's kitchen, flipping through wedding magazines. Both Carole and Finn had been hanging out at their house a lot lately, probably because it was bigger and in a better neighborhood, and this is where they decided the Hummel-Hudson clan would live after Burt and Carole officially tied the knot.

Right now Finn and Burt were upstairs, clearing boxes out of the spare bedroom which had once been Kurt's nursery, but had been storage for a while now. It would become Finn's bedroom, and Kurt was silently glad that he didn't have to share his basement bedroom. It was plenty big sure, and even had its own bathroom attached, but Kurt was still figuring himself out. Also, Finn didn't seem that comfortable around him.

"You have a better eye for this than I do, Kurt," Carole complimented. "You should've seen the bridesmaid dresses I picked out for my wedding to Finn's father. Orange. Big sleeves. Atrocious. But my emotions were running high. I was the bride and I would not be persuaded otherwise."

"Carole," Kurt said, placing a hand over his to-be-step-mom's, "If you try to get even the smallest of orange thing into this wedding, I _will persuade_ you otherwise."

They both started giggling. There was a thundering of footsteps coming down the stairs. Finn and Burt emerged in the kitchen a moment later.

"All done?" Carole asked.

"For today. It needs some paint and a new carpet, but it's all cleared out into the attic now," said Burt. He then patted Finn on the shoulder and said, "Hey, why don't I order some pizza for lunch, and we can watch the game?"

"Yes!" Finn said with a little fist pump.

"Pizza sound good to you guys?" Burt said, addressing his fiancé and biological son.

"Sure," Carole replied. Kurt nodded, barely.

Finn disappeared into the living room, and Kurt could hear the television turning on. Kurt didn't have a clue what game his father and Finn were talking about, but it seemed that there was always some sort of game, every weekend… every time Finn visited.

"So, did you decide anything?" Burt asked as he shifted through take-out and delivery menus in a kitchen drawer.

"We decided on yellow."

"With white accents," Kurt added.

"With white accents," Carole repeated dutifully.

"Sounds good," Burt said, and he kissed Carole on the cheek as he passed. He was then also in the living room, picking up a phone out of the cradle, and making the call, while watching the TV over Finn's head. Kurt could just make this all out from his seat.

Carole turned a few pages in the magazine in front of her. "What do you think about favors?"

He stood up sharply, and his stool squeaked against the floor.

"Kurt?"

He pursed his lips and looked at Carole, who had an expression of worry on her face. "I'm getting a headache. I'm going to go lie down until the food gets here."

He retreated quickly to his bedroom and threw himself onto his bed. He buried his face in his pillow. He really didn't want to cry. He really didn't.

The springtime progressed and it was nearing the end of the school year. Finn and Carole were over nearly every weekend. This weekend it was dinner on Saturday evening, so it left Friday free for a rare Friday night dinner that Kurt and Burt had to themselves.

Kurt was glancing through the ingredients in their refrigerator, considering making dinner in order to avoid take-out and the five dishes his father could make competently. The man tried, but he didn't quite have that domestic touch.

He found a bag of frozen fish fillets buried in a shelf in the freezer. He tossed them on the counter and went to scrounging in the crisper drawer for the makings of a salad when his dad walked through the kitchen, buttoning the cuff on his flannel shirt.

"Hey, Dad. What do you think about flounder for dinner?"

The man froze, a look of horror on his face. "I forgot to tell you."

Kurt stood up straight. "Tell me what."

"I'm going out tonight."

"Out?" Kurt asked, confused, "With Carole?"

"No, with Finn."

Kurt cocked his head to the side, confused, intrigued…hurt.

"He said he had never been to a baseball game before. I got tickets."

"And you didn't think to ask me?" Kurt said, tone sharp.

"I took you to a game two years ago, remember?" Burt said. "We left before the fourth inning was finished."

Kurt wanted to say '_So? You still should have asked. You should have remembered to tell me you had plans. You should like me more than Finn._' Instead, he said, "What about Friday night dinner. It's a tradition."

"I'm sorry, buddy. But I can't pull out on this after Finn is all excited about it. Plus, we're having dinner tomorrow night."

"With Carole and Finn," Kurt shot back.

Burt's eyes narrowed. "I thought you liked Carole and Finn?"

"I do. I do," Kurt quickly retracted, because it getting much too close to the things he wasn't saying, but the things he meant. "It's just— never mind. Go, go."

Burt looked at hid oddly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" It wasn't a shout, but it wasn't a shout by just the slightly pitch.

"Alright," Burt said slowly. "See you later tonight."

Kurt waited until he heard the door close and the car pull out of the driveway before he pulled the small frying pan out of the cabinet. He cooked himself a single fillet of flounder to perfection and dished it onto a plate. He started at it for a moment. He walked directly to the trashcan and dumped the food into it. On his way back to the refrigerator, he tossed his plate carelessly into the sink. It didn't break, but he would have been more satisfied if it had shattered.

He dug out a pint of chocolate marshmallow ice cream out of the freezer that had only remained untouched by Burt, and Finn, because it was low fat. He put the _Sound of_ _Music_ on and curled up against the arm rest of the couch, feeling miserable.

Burt found his son asleep there on the couch when he got back from the game. The empty pint container and spoon where on the floor. Burt took them to the kitchen, then came back to lay an afghan over the boy, before he went up to bed.

"Kurt, honey, can I talk to you for a moment," Carole asked. She touched him lightly on the shoulder where he was curled up. The four of them had been watching some horrible action movie that only Finn and Burt seemed to enjoy. But the star was running around all shirtless and sweaty, which Kurt was enjoying a little too much while he was pretending to reread Harry Potter in the arm chair.

Carole had been getting up to make some more popcorn when she had whispered this to Kurt. He nodded, put a bookmark in the pages, and followed the woman into the kitchen.

"Kurt," she said, sitting down at the counter and motioning for him to sit down as well. He took a seat across from her. "I've noticed you've been distant lately."

It was true. Kurt had been hiding in his room more and more whenever Carole and Finn were over. It was just getting too heartbreaking to see Finn and Dad so happily get along while he on the sidelines— unnoticed, silent, out-of-place.

"Finn had the same problem," Carole continued.

Kurt blinked. He had no idea what she was talking about now.

"I can imagine it's very stressful to gain a step-parent, but I want you to know that I want to be a part of your life, I'm not trying to replace your mom."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. She was being so sincere, but that wasn't the issue at all. Carole had been great, the one person in this whole thing he felt he connected to at all. He was secretly glad to have a female family member again. He loved his mom, as much as he could remember of her, and that would never go away, not for Carole, not for anyone.

"No, no, it's not you. I've just been…" Kurt glanced through the doorway to the living room. Carole followed the motion. "I've been stressed with school and wedding plans and everything."

"Right, okay. Well, as long as we're good."

Carole, from the point, seemed to interpret the problem as not her, but that Kurt and Finn had yet to bond. This resulted in a thinly-valued excuse of a date for Burt and Carole as they left Kurt and Finn in the Hummel's house. Finn, sweet, simple Finn, was a little confused as to why he had to spend the evening their rather than being allowed to go to a friend's house, but didn't complain too much, because Kurt and Burt had a bigger TV and he was allowed to bring his video game set up. Apparently video games were the prefect guy bonding thing.

Except Kurt didn't play video games much. He didn't inherently dislike them, it was just there weren't many games that seemed that interesting to him (and it was time away from things that Kurt enjoyed more— reading Vogue, watching classic musicals, following fashion trends, singing, piano lessons, etc.)

They had gotten an hour round of Halo, which apparently had the object to run around and shoot aliens, and Finn was much better than Kurt. This amused Finn. ("It's fun to play against someone I can actually beat…") Apparently, Kurt had gleaned in between moments o Finn yelling at the screen, Finn's usual competition, Puck, was something like a Halo prodigy.

Putting the control on the couch cushion next to him after he died, again, Kurt stood and announced, "I'm going to make some pop corn."

"Awesome, dude."

Kurt lingered as long as he could in the kitchen, but ten minutes was stretching it, so with a bowl of fresh popcorn, he reentered the living room. Upon smelling the food, Finn ditched his game controller. He went at the bowl as soon as Kurt sat back down on the couch.

After stuffing two handfuls into his mouth and barely swallowing, Finn paused and asked. "Dude, what's on this?"

"Oh, I made it with some olive oil and parmesan cheese," Kurt said. He tended to stray away from the traditional popcorn toppings, and he had been on such autopilot, he forgot that Finn probably wouldn't be used to that. "Is that okay?"

"It's awesome!"

It turned out the way to Finn's heart was through his stomach, and Kurt's interesting twist of things in the kitchen (although not always), was a break bridge for them to become slowly brother-like.

The wedding was in June and it was wonderful. There hadn't been a splash of orange anywhere except in the dress of some of the more tacky guests. Both Kurt and Finn stood up with their parents at the altar.

The reception was well underway. The meal had been served, the first dance danced, the couple toasted, the cake cut, the bouquet thrown. Right now they were in those spare hours after all that, when some of the less dedication guests began to leave, and the rest were drunk, or chatting with some cousin they hadn't seen since last reunion, or swaying lazily on the dance floor in the arms of loved one.

Except for a single dance he had shared earlier with Carole, Kurt hadn't danced at all. He imagined it would be nice, to have someone to dance with someday. He was only just out of middle school. He knew he had time, but he doubted it would happen anytime soon…that is, dancing with someone in a romantic capacity.

Could he never build the confidence to do it in Lima? Ever build the confidence to do it ever?

As he sat there, watching all the couples— Burt and Carole, a newlywed couple that were Carole's adult nephew and new wife, Aunt Lisa and Uncle Jim, the Brownsteins from down the street, a white-haired man and woman who must have been well in their seventies if not eighties— he knew, more than he had ever know, that he wanted to share a dance with a boy. He had known this, of course, for a while, just never completely. It had been a whisper, a growing touch, something he would admit one hour and then reject another. He knew now, or accepted now, if only to himself, in his innermost parts, who he was and what he wanted because of it. To dance with a boy, kiss a boy, marry a boy.

Kurt gulped.

The rest of the summer was awkward. Carole and Finn moved in and suddenly the routine that Kurt and his dad had down for years had changed. Carole had taken over cooking, for one, which was nice as it opened up the meal options. The laundry piled up faster. The hot water ran out quicker. These were just the superficial things.

There were bigger things, like how dinner time, which used to be a time Kurt and his father had to sit down together, without television or other distractions, and talk to each other. Talk even when they had little to share or little to interest the other. It had been nice. A time to connect. But now it was, everyday, a four person deal. It had Carole and Burt catching up on their days. It had _Finn_, who was practically a puppy dog, bounding with stories, asking advice, and otherwise making motions for Burt's approval, which Burt gave him. It felt hard now, awkward, inappropriate, for Kurt to bring up the things that were on his mind, like _Grey's Anatomy_ DVDs and orange making a comeback.

Kurt first day of high school was a day of many firsts. It was the first time he had a slushie thrown in with his face, granted, it was happening to a lot of freshman today. Not Finn, he was too tall and everyone who didn't remember him from middle school probably thought he was a transferred junior or something. It was the first day he had been called that particular f-word—one that made him go pale and glance around the hallway to see who heard and who cared. Finn hadn't been there for that one. They had different classes.

It was also the first time that he got to sit at the cool kids table. Well, relatively cool. They all were freshman after, and thus none of them had a reputation or a status yet that was worth a damn. Not until the sports tryouts were over with and teams were picked did freshman have a chance of meaning something.

Still, Kurt was used to eating by himself or with AV club or with whoever had been the ever-dwindling choir club in middle school. Not particularly close to anyone, just on the edge of being an outcast. This table, which included Finn, also included Noah Puckerman, with whom Kurt had been forced to interact with since they Hummels and Hudsons had moved into the same house. Neither particularly liked the other, but Puck, as he stupidly preferred to be called, had stopped being outright mean to him, like he had before Finn and Kurt became step-brothers. There were a few girls who had been on top of the popularity pyramid in eighth grade, including Brittany and Santana, as well as some other guys sitting on the other end of the table that didn't talk to Kurt.

Overall, it was a mixed bag of a day. He didn't really make any new friends. He had just been tolerated by Finn's. However, it could have been worse and Finn liked him enough to openly acknowledge them as new brothers to the school.

Apparently Finn had told Puck about Kurt's suggestion to compliment girls' eyes. Kurt had told Finn when he walked in on Finn googling for flirting advice. By the end of the second week of school, both Finn and Puck were coming to Kurt— separately— asking advice like Kurt was some sort of girl wooing guru on how to impress the pretty new blonde girl who had just made the Cheerios. Quinn, Kurt thought her name was.

Kurt was having a hard time begrudging Finn. Finn had turned out to be an okay guy. Not the sharpest crayon in the box, but he tended not to be intentionally cruel, which was something Kurt valued.

It helped very little when the school day was over and he was confronted once again with how well everyone else got along with each other in their new blended family but him. He didn't say much anymore when they were in a big group. He spent his hours before and after dinner in his room, rather than hanging out in the living room, (where, inevitably, even if Finn was supposed to be doing homework and Dad was supposed to be going over the books for the auto shop, they ended up chatting about something Kurt was not a part of).

It was easy to be in his room, by choice, and be away from them, then to be right next to his dad, and involuntarily be a million miles away.

"Are you getting sick?" Carole asked, laying a hand on Kurt's forehead without a hesitation. It was such a motherly gesture, performed so naturally, that it made Kurt want to close his eyes and lean into the touch.

But instead, he withdrew, sitting back in his chair in the dining room where his homework had been spread out before him on the table. "No. I'm fine."

"Oh," Carole said. She pulled out a chair adjacent to his and sat down. She crossed her arms on the table in front of her. "You've just been spending so much time in your room lately that I thought you might be catching something.

Kurt would have preferred to leave it at that, but Carole was looking at him like she was trying to decode him, so he thought it best to come up with a viable excuse than be silent and give her reason pry. "It's just high school… there's a lot more homework…"

"Finn isn't studying this much," Carole said. It wasn't supposed to be a point of comparison, rather, a comment of interest.

"Well," Kurt said, kind of under his breath, "That's why I get better grades…" He looked up at Carole. "Sorry, that was rude."

She waved a nonchalant hand in the air as I excusing the statement. "Finn's never been much of an academic." Carole shifted in her seat, leaned forward and placed a hand on top of his arm. "Kurt, I'm not blind. You're the same distant you were when I lasted talked to you. I thought you and Finn getting closer would help, but you seem just as before… and I want to know what I can do—"

"It's not you, Carole!" Kurt snapped. Carole looked shocked.

Kurt began stuttering out an apology, when Burt, followed by Finn, came into the room.

"I just got a call on my cell phone. They need me down at the shop. I'm taking Finn with me to help. We'll be back before dinner."

"Dad," Kurt said. "I could come help too…"

"It's fine, Kurt. I've wanted to show Finn around the shop for a while, and I don't want to interrupt your studying."

A moment later they were gone and the front door was slamming shut. Kurt gulped rather obviously. Carole was staring right at him. He could feel her gaze boring into him, but he wouldn't look. He couldn't.

"Kurt…" she said and it was softer, with a touch of pity and a sudden new understanding.

Kurt stood from his chair, and paced to the other end of the dining room, away from her. He reached the wall and then turned back. He just couldn't hold it back.

"Dad and Finn get along better than me and my dad ever, _ever_, have. And— and it hurts to see that, because they already have relationship that we don't, because I'm not popular, because I don't like football, because I like Broadway and clothes and cooking. Because I'm gay."

Kurt slapped a hand over his mouth after the words had slipped out. His tears had stopped on a dime, but his eyes were wider than ever.

Carole was a little shocked, by the outburst, mostly, but she would be lying if she said she hadn't considered the option that Kurt was gay. He definitely gave off that vibe. It hadn't bothered her. There weren't a lot of openly gay people in Lima, Ohio, so Carole didn't know many. Only the Berry's, who she had met at multiple PTA meetings over the years, came to mind.

Kurt pulled his hand from his mouth, but it still hovered in front of it, as if ready to cut off any other offending words before they got the chance to escape. "I— I didn't say," he stuttered. "I didn't."

"Kurt," Carole said, imploringly. She took a step towards him. She was a mother after all; her innate instinct was to step in, hug, and comfort. Kurt, however, took a step back to match hers. She stilled. "It's okay."

"No, it's not."

Carole saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed nervously. He glanced sideways to the front door, even though it remained closed and his father had long since gone.

"Please. Please, don't tell anyone. Anyone. And don't tell my dad. Especially my dad. Please…"

It had never been a question in Carole's mind, but it was reaffirmed all the more by how desperate and distraught this poor boy was. "No, of course not. I won't tell a soul, Kurt. Not even your father. This is…this is your secret to tell."

He nodded in acceptance, and it was both frantic and jerky. He backed up a few paces and ended up retreating down the steps to his bedroom.

Kurt paced the length of his floor. He had never paced before, but he was now. Too much horrible, nervous energy built up under his skin and no other way to get out. He felt so stupid. How could he have just blurted that out? It was one of the most important things in his life, an integral part of who he was. It was still a delicate issue, something he knew, but was still processing it. Something he wasn't ready to share with another soul (he wasn't sure he had another soul he trusted enough, no matter how sad that sounded).

He wanted to believe Carole. He wanted to believe that she wouldn't tell. But he also didn't believe in his luck. Surely, even if she did have the best of intentions, it would slip out accidently, right? Or she had only told him that she wouldn't tell, but she would tell his dad in private… and that would be the end of everything.

Kurt wound two fists in his hair, something he never did, screwed up his eyes tight, and a desperate type of sound escaped his throat.

Carole placed the novel she had been reading into her lap. Burt was next to her in the bed, sitting up against the backboard, perusing a car magazine.

"Burt," she said, garnering his attention. "You need to talk to your son."

He looked at her quizzically. "What?"

"Look, I'm so glad that you and Finn get along so well. He has never had a real father-figure in his life. But I think in all that enthusiasm between you two, that little boys club the two of you have, Kurt is left out."

Burt stayed quiet for a moment, thinking, "I guess I figured he was alright with it all. Kurt never liked sports, and now I didn't have to bother him with them anymore now that Finn and I could talk about it."

"Just because he doesn't care about sports doesn't mean he doesn't care about you. I think he feels left out…replaced even. Haven't you noticed how quiet he's been lately?"

"I thought he was just stressed with school…or becoming a moody teenage. Hell knows when I started high school I practically stopped talking to my parents."

"But Kurt isn't you. Neither is Finn. They both lost one of their parents when they were young. They understand the importance of having a parent at all. Sure, teenagers are more distant because they are growing up, growing independent. But as distant as Kurt has been…"

Burt rubbed a hand on his forehead. "You're right. I know you're right. I've just been so caught up with bonding with Finn, spending time with you, and just merging this family as whole, that I've been neglecting him. I'm a terrible father."

"No, you're not," Carole instantly protested, placing both hands on Burt's forearm, as if to make her words more genuine. "Both Finn and Kurt love you, and you earned that. You may have overlooked some things, but you are hardly terrible."

"Still, doesn't make it any easier on the kid," Burt said with a sigh. "Kurt's just… different than guys like Finn and me. We don't have a lot in common in way of interest. He's good with cars, but they're hardly his passion, and sports, God, he hates those…watching, playing, talking. He likes music, and not exactly Melloncamp. He likes show tunes. He likes clothing… Did you know that we he was little, he put streamers on his bike handlebars? Or when he finally learned to ride by himself he organized a tea party in the backyard for the two of us as celebration?"

Carole shook her head no as she but back a little grin for the compassion that laid behind Burt's words as he reminisced about his son's childhood.

"I've been pushing him out just when he is probably needing him most. I remember what it was like in high school. I was a jock, and I know how kids like me treat kids like Kurt."

"Like Kurt?" Carole questioned, although she already knew. She needed to hear what Burt would say about it, that he could prove to be the man she believed him to be.

"Y'know…small. A bit girly. Possibly…" He cleared his throat and turned to Carole, "We haven't really talked about this. I didn't used to be good about it, but Lizzy set me straight. Ever since he was little I suspected— well, we both did— that Kurt might be…" He trailed off again.

"Gay," Carole supplied.

"Yeah," Burt agreed. "Of course, I love him, no matter what. It's not something I'm used to, growing up here, but it doesn't matter. Not really. Not when you stop and think about it and how all those reasons for those prejudices don't really make sense."

Carole threw her arms around Burt's shoulders.

He patted her on the back and asked, "What?"

"You're a wonderful man, Burt Hummel," she whispered into his ear, "And I am proud to call you my husband, but these are the things you need to be telling your son."

An evening the next week, Carole hustled herself and Finn out of the house to go visit their great aunt who lived in a nursing home. She had also kept a conversation going, about the weather, what they were having for dinner, meshing Thanksgiving traditions even though it was over a month away, so he hadn't a moment to retreat downstairs to his bedroom. Burt would have to compliment Carole on how wonderfully manipulative it all was.

He plopped down onto the couch next to his son and put an arm over his shoulders. "I've been ignoring you lately, buddy."

Kurt was a little startled from all of this, so it took him a moment to respond. "No… I mean, we've both been busy…and our family just doubled, can't expect the same amount of attention as before. I know that." Even confronted with the problem and the major perpetrator admitting it, Kurt could not confess the weakness. It would possibly lead to confessing more than he wanted to confess. Like it had with Carole.

"Kurt," Burt said, "It's not okay, and I'm sorry. Finn is a son to me now, just like you're a son to Carole. Were lucky, really, that we all fit together so well. But having Finn has my kid shouldn't replace having you as my kid as well, and I have been letting it."

Kurt wanted to say 'no' again and pretend that everything was alright, but he couldn't. All he did, then, was stare at his lap and blink back his tears, so that he could maintain his composer and then say, "Yes. I have felt a bit… left out."

"Kurt… I want you to know that no matter what, no what who I become friends with, no matter who else comes into my life, you're never going to be replaced."

Kurt sniffled then, and felt a bit embarrassed at being so obviously vulnerable.

"And Kurt," Burt implored, making the boy look up at him and share eye contact. "Here's another little thing, a secret about being a parent. We're not perfect. We make mistakes, but we also know things. We tend to know things about our kids, things they think we don't know. We're intuitive like that. So… I just want you to know, that it's okay. I love you and I accept you."

Kurt felt like he couldn't breathe, because there was something in that. His dad _knew._ Kurt didn't know if Carole had spilled or not, but it was okay, because it was _okay._ Neither of them had to say it, and Kurt wasn't sure if he was ready to say it again, all premeditated. But it was a weight off his chest. Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

><p>Aki- Okay, so most of this was written in December, but I was stuck on a few scenes... and now I am done. This story is not abandoned, just do not expect regular or timely updates.<p> 


	8. The One That's a Crossover With HSM

Chapter Title: The One That's A High School Musical Crossover

Characters: Kurt, Burt, Ryan Evans, Blaine

Pairings: Kurt/Ryan; Kurt/Blaine

Warnings:

Timeline: Pre-Glee (pre-sophmore year)

**The One That's a High School Musical Crossover**

"I can't believe your first kiss was with _Ryan Evans_," Rachel squealed, clutching at his sleeve. Kurt gently extracted her because, wrinkles, no. Also, this wasn't new news, so he wasn't going to accommodate her enthusiasm, otherwise he would've allowed such a display given his smugness on the fact that his first kiss had been with _Ryan Evans._

"He's famous!" Rachel continued, clutching her playbill.

"He's not that famous," Blaine grumbled from the other side of Kurt.

"He's touring the country," Rachel said, "In a musical. Off Broadway, but still."

Kurt clasped Blaine's hand, sliding their palms together until their fingers interlocked, a familiar hold. "Don't be jealous, Blaine," Kurt lightly admonished. "We're just friends."

"But you guys are like best friends," Blaine said.

"He's helped through a lot, but we haven't gotten to see each other in person since the summer we met. I'm really excited to get to see him tonight. But I love you, silly, so there's no need to worry."

The three of them weaved their way through the crowd that was most focused on exiting the theater. Their intended location, backstage, was in the opposite direction. As they rounded the corner, they were stopped by security, who they told who they were there for. A brief walky-talky conversation later, they were allowed to pass. Blaine's grip tightened. Rachel was practically bubbling over with excitement.

There was a lot of rushing about backstage, both actors and crew in a flurry of activity. They must have been excited to either go home and rest or go out on the town and do that opposite of rest. Mostly, it was so real, more than any show choir competitions in their collective pasts. This was making it.

Kurt was fairly sure than the other two were having similar feelings as he was, seeing a dream of their future as performers. Feeling inexplicably at home in an unfamiliar place.

"Kurt?"

Kurt's eyes searched around the hustling crowd to put a familiar face to a familiar voice. Suddenly he was there, blonde and perky as ever. Kurt dropped Blaine's hand to fully reciprocate the hug Ryan enveloped him in.

Ryan stepped back, hands still embraced on Kurt's shoulders. "Wow, you've gotten so tall."

"And you've gotten successful," Kurt returned. "You were amazing tonight."

"Thanks," Ryan said with one of his patented sweet smiles. He then dropped his hands from Kurt and turned his attention to Blaine, who was standing silent and stoic slightly behind his boyfriend.

"And you're Blaine!" he said, offering a hand. "Kurt's told me a wonderful million things about you. I'm glad he found someone to make him so happy."

Blaine was pleasantly surprised by this, even with Kurt's multiple assurances that Ryan knew of him and was a really nice person.

"I'm lucky to have him," Blaine said, shaking Ryan's hand.

"He's a catch," Ryan said. "If only he had been my age and hadn't lived so far away."

"Don't tease him like that," Kurt scolded around a chuckle.

"And, you're Rachel, right?" Ryan said to the girl flanking Kurt's other side. "Kurt has told me a lot about you as well."

Rachel squeaked, then said, words evacuating her mouth swiftly, "You were amazing. A real talent. I could see you leading on Broadway in a few years, around the same time I plan to be making by debut. We would be great playing opposite each other."

Ryan glanced from Rachel to Kurt. "She's exactly as you described her," he said. Kurt was careful to choke down a laugh. He hadn't been friends with Rachel all the time he had known Rachel, and in those early days had said some less than complimentary things about her to his confidant.

Ryan then proposed they go out to a restaurant, his treat, to continue talking. And there they did talk, Ryan giving his helpful advice on arts colleges, auditions, and working on stage to the eagerly listening three of them. As the entrees arrived at their table, Rachel seemed to break out of star struck mode for a moment to ask, "How exactly did you two meet, anyway? Kurt has always been rather private about it."

"It was a private thing," Kurt said. "I liked having a friend outside of McKinley that I could rely on..., but I guess now that he's not so much of a secret anymore, there's no harm to telling the story…"

…

It wasn't Kurt's dream vacation, but his dream vacation was a little more unrealistically Paris and less New Mexico. However, one of Burt's wealthier, regular patrons owed him a favor and was paying it back with a most expenses paid stay at a resort country club halfway across the country from home. The upside was there the heat was dry rather than the oppressive humidity of Ohio. And that it wasn't likely for Kurt to run into any of the people he didn't make friends with in school – all of them. Freshman year had been tough.

The club came with a lot: pool, baseball diamond, an 18 hole golf course… the latter two he was uninterested in, the former one he could only spend so much time lounging around with his complexion. It was why, the second day there, he took some time to explore some of the interior features of the club. It was turning out pretty well, having discovered a spa, a yoga studio (with a class currently in session), and later down a few more twists and turns, a music room. Or at least, it had a piano and an assortment of music supplies – music and microphone stands, a dissembled drum kit – in it.

He went directly to the piano; the lid over the keys was already up. He took a seat on the bench, already a proper length about for a body to fit, never tucked back in from its last use. Kurt used to take piano lessons, back before his mother died. She had been the pianist in the family, and his teacher, and it never felt right to try and find a replacement. Still, whenever he was alone with a keyboard, he couldn't help stretch his fingers along it, playing out the tunes, exercises, and scales he had learned as a child, and sometimes clunking out the melody line from a favorite song, experimenting to get the right note after right note.

He started the opening notes to "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" because he had been on a total _Evita_ kick lately, humming along. He was at it for maybe five minutes when he realized he was not alone. There was nothing particular that clued him in, but rather that he had developed something of a sixth sense to these things as a built-in bully avoidance technique. So he looked to the doorway, just knowing, and found a teenager, probably a year or two older than Kurt standing there, watching him.

"Hi," the teenager said pleasantly as the two made eye contact. He was a young man, taller than Kurt, with blonde hair peeking out from under a pageboy cap.

"Hi," Kurt responded.

"I wasn't expecting anyone here," the teenager said.

"I can go," Kurt said, starting to stand. He was feeling shy, suddenly, but again, he really didn't have friends, and so interacting with others without a complete bitch front on was not something he wasn't practiced on.

"I didn't say you had to go," the teenager said, still cheery. "Just that I wasn't expecting anyone. This is technically storage. They pull this stuff out for shows and stuff. There's always a big talent show at the end of the summer. But I like to come back here and practice." As he spoke, the teenager crossed the room to stand by the piano, forcing Kurt to crane his neck up to look at him.

"Ryan," the teenager – Ryan, it would seem – offered with a smile. And god, was it a good smile. He was cute, this Ryan. And up close, Kurt could tell that the polo he was wearing, white with green color blocks on the tops of the shoulders that matched the color of his hat, was high quality.

"Kurt," Kurt said back, voice a little higher than usual. He couldn't quite summon a smile.

This Ryan then, unprompted and unexplained, took a seat next to Kurt on the piano bench. Kurt jolted, surprised. He wasn't used to boys willing getting closed to him, and when sharing a piano bench, it was pretty much a guaranteed touching.

"What were you playing?" Ryan asked.

"I don't really play," Kurt said, because if this guy came regularly here to practice, Kurt's fooling around didn't compare.

"It sounded like playing," Ryan said.

"Don't Cry For Me Argentina," Kurt admitted.

Ryan placed both hands to the keys and did a couple set of chords, creating a familiar tune.

"You know it?" Kurt said, surprised and pleased in a way that refreshing to feel. And it came out in his voice and his expression.

Ryan smiled again, though this time, he was a whole lot closer to Kurt, and yeah, Kurt was kind of staring into his eyes.

"I can fake it," Ryan said. Was he staring back? No, it was just eye contact, polite eye contact. After a long pause, Ryan focused his attention back to the keys of the piano and started playing out something familiar that Kurt was focused enough to figure out.

"So where're you from?" Ryan asked.

"Ohio," Kurt answered.

"That's a far way away," Ryan said, a touch of surprise to his tone. Kurt shrugged, even though Ryan probably couldn't see him. "No wonder I haven't seen you around here before. There's a lot of adults and not as many teens here."

"Are you here a lot then?" Kurt asked, feeling proud that he had finally managed to engage fully in the conversation.

The corner of Ryan's mouth quirked up in what looked like a smirk. "You could say that."

"Okay," Kurt said, not understanding. "So you play the piano then," he continued, stupidly.

"Yeah, and sing and do drama and stuff like that. You?"

"I wish," Kurt said. "The teacher at my school who runs the drama program and the glee club – Mr. Ryerson – is a total creep, so…"

"And you're in high school?" Ryan asked, stilling playing.

"Just finished freshman year," he said.

"I wasn't sure. You look kinda young."

Kurt ruffled at that. "I'm still waiting for my growth spurt," he said darkly.

"I don't mean it offensively," Ryan said, hands stilling and looking directly at Kurt again. "I'm actually glad that you're older than you look. You know, closer to my age."

"You're in high school too, then?"

"Just graduated from a local one. East High... go wildcats," he added with humor.

"Is it good there?" Kurt said. He really couldn't imagine high school being good anywhere for someone who favored the drama department and dressed with matching hats and shirts.

"It's alright. They don't nearly appreciate me and my sister – we're head of the drama club – nearly enough compared to the basketball team though."

Kurt smiled. "It's always that though." Basically his middle school experience in a nutshell.

"It could be worse though. The jocks are uncultured, but relatively harmless, except when they steal the lead male role in the musical… sorry, I'm still a little bitter."

"So they aren't like… bullies?" Kurt asked, tone forced into something casual. He didn't want Ryan, a young man he barely knew but already liked, to face the same kind of suffering as him, but at the same time, there would some niceties in not being alone.

The tinkling tune paused as Ryan cocked his head in a contemplative manner. "Well, my twin sister is really intimidating, and my parents are rich, so no one ever _really_ bothered me, but I don't know what it would've been like otherwise… I'm kind of _out _there, you know? Flamboyant."

"I know," Kurt said, heart speeding up in his chest, because they were getting closer to the thing, the thing Kurt had never admitted aloud before.

Ryan started at the piano again, and it felt like the moment had just fled away. "So, you know anyone out here in New Mexico, or are you just here."

"Just here," Kurt said, "With my dad." He should have known right then, but Ryan didn't ask after his mother, like so many did in situations like this, that he was the type of person who was going at hearing what wasn't said.

"Spending the summer away from friends must suck," he said lightly.

Kurt tensed up, shoulders rising in a gesture that was defensive, part of the armor. "I don't really have any friends."

The music stopped again. "Well, you have one now."

Kurt laughed. "If I knew it was as easy as hanging out in a storage room."

"You found out the secret," Ryan teased.

Kurt gulped. He needed to ask, be brave for a second, and know for a fact that he wasn't by himself in this world. "It might be presumptuous to ask, but are you—" And just then his phone vibrated in his pants pocket, tickling him. He yanked it out.

"It's my dad," he said to Ryan and then under his breath, "God, he's so bad at texting… He wants to get an early dinner. I've got to go."

He regretted it, so much, having to leave in this moment he was sure he wouldn't be able to recreate, especially the bravery to ask.

Kurt scrambled up off the bench and moved toward the door.

"Yes," Ryan called after him. "I am."

They both knew exactly what he was saying.

…

The next day, Kurt went to the storage room with the piano, and found Ryan there.

"I'd hope you'd show up again," Ryan said with that smile of his. Kurt didn't think he'd ever met someone who smiled to freely, so often, and with such genuineness.

Kurt closed the door behind himself, and leaned back against it, the handle gripping in a hand at the small of his back.

"I've never met anyone who was gay before," Kurt said, intent to continue what they had the day before. "Except for myself."

"That must be lonely."

Kurt nodded and ducked his head. He didn't care for his own vulnerability. It was too easy to get hurt even when he had all his guards up.

"And I – I've never told anyone before, about me being gay." He blinked heavily, eyes on the floor but focusing on nothing.

An arm is placed over his shoulders, and he didn't even realize Ryan had approached. He usually would stiffen or shrug away such contact, but not today, and not with Ryan, who he let himself sink into his freely given comfort.

"No need to cry," Ryan said. "You just took your first step out of the closet. That's a happy occasion."

"It's just hard," Kurt said, voice cracking.

"I know," Ryan said. "And here's what we're going to do. We're both going to go and change into workout clothes and go to a yoga sense to cleanse our spirits and then to the spa to get facial to cleanse our pores. After all that, I swear that you're going to feel at least 89% better."

Kurt chuckled through his near tears. "Okay."

And that's what they did. It was his first real yoga class and it was quite fun, and it was also quite fun to see Ryan dressed down and stretching into different positions. Not that he would ever tell Ryan that. After than they went to the spa, and Ryan got their names pushed up in the queue so they didn't have to wait so long. When Kurt asked him how he pulled that off, Ryan waved off the question with a coy grin and wink that kinda, sorta made Kurt feel all squiggly in his gut.

And he did feel better. He was hardly fixed. A life load of problems weren't fixed in a single great day, but not being alone. Not being alone anymore was one of the greatest gifts he had ever received.

At the end of the day, Ryan was walking him back to his room, banter between them all nothing and nonsense and laughter. As they just about reached the door, his dad came out. Dad did a double-take, seeing him.

"Hey, Kurt, I was wondering where you were. You're a little dressed down." _A little_ was an understatement.

"Oh, you know, I was just… working out." He didn't feel the need to specify the means of the work out. He was sure his Ohio-bred father wouldn't consider that in his repertoire of work outs.

"Okay," his dad said, his eyes glancing over to Ryan, who had so far remained silent.

"Oh, and this is Ryan. He was just showing me around and stuff," Kurt said, all blasé, like Ryan wasn't the most important person he had met in the last several years, at least.

Burt nodded and offered a hand, because he is old-fashioned like that. Ryan shook it firmly, with a tacked on, "Nice to meet you."

"I was just going for a walk to stretch my legs," Burt said to Kurt. "See you in an hour for dinner?"

"Sure," Kurt said, and then his dad was gone.

"No offense," Ryan said, "But you're dad doesn't seem the country club type."

"He isn't," Kurt said. "He really isn't. But he deserves a vacation. You know, he works really hard, and sitting around watching TV or reading car magazines at the pool is his idea of a vacation, he deserves it."

"But he doesn't know?"

"No," Kurt said with finality. He watched something shifting in Ryan's features. "You think I should tell him."

"It's not my place to say. I don't know you life or your family or what it means to you or how ready you are for any of it."

"What happened when you told your family?"

"They already knew," Ryan said plainly. If only things could be that easy.

…

A vacation with Ryan really made the vacation worth having. Every day, even just for a bit, they spent time together. Kurt met his _intense_ twin sister named Sharpay – which, wasn't that a breed of dog? – who often demanded his attention.

They went swimming one day, both of them sharing in the care that came with being pale-skinned. And seeing Ryan shirtless sort of solidified Kurt's giant crush on the boy.

They talked some more, when they were in private, about Kurt and his relatively in the closet-ness. Ryan never pressured him toward anything, but only ever seemed to strive to understand and offer his experience as a way of clarity.

"My parents were always kind of liberal, so it wasn't something I had to worry about too much. I'm really rather lucky."

"I don't even know what my dad things about homosexuality. The more I think about it, I can't think of him saying anything about it either way."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"It means I have no basis go on." He racked his fingers through his hair, which was a particularly stressful moment for Kurt.

"I have an idea," Ryan said, scooting forward on his seat. "Use me."

"Excuse me."

"Tell him that I'm gay, because… you know… I am, and see how reacts."

"I don't know…" Kurt said, because it might be a good thing, his father's response. But it also might be horrible…, and, well, there was the rub.

"You don't have to, but consider it. It's sort of a get out of jail free card. Find it out with very little risk."

…

"So," Kurt said, casually as he stabs a piece of broccoli, "What do you think of Ryan?"

His dad put down his glass of cola and said, "I think it's nice you're making a friend."

"But, he's like… you know," Kurt said, not daring really to say it yet. Let it sit.

Burt's brow furrowed, a sure sign of confusion. "I know?" he asked.

"Gay," Kurt said, under his breath, eyes brows raised as if sharing in some sort of conspiracy.

"Why would that matter?" Burt said, somehow sounding both offhand and calculated. However, Kurt was not in the mood to over-analyzed his father's tone when he is too obsessed with the very content.

Kurt's hands shook throughout the rest of dinner. This had been a testing ground, and it had gone more than well, but he wasn't mentally prepared for the next part yet.

That night, he texted Ryan, and they met up in their storage room.

"Good news?" Ryan said. His arms are spread just a little, out like he is presenting something, and it probably wasn't a pose purposely designed for a hug, but it's where Kurt took it. He threw his arms around Ryan's neck and hugged him, face hidden in his shoulder. If he was fazed from the sudden demonstrative nature of Kurt that Kurt never showed, Ryan didn't show it. Rather, he wrapped his arms around Kurt's back snuggly and asked, "Really good, then?"

Kurt released and stepped back. "He doesn't care!... about you being you being gay. He literally said 'why does it matter'."

"That's great. And about you?"

"Well, I haven't gotten to that part yet, but I think I will… soon. Probably before we leave here."

…

"I know you like me."

Kurt nearly choked on his coffee.

"It's kind of obvious," Ryan said, so nonchalantly, leaned easily back into the comfort of the couch. Kurt couldn't be sitting more stiffly.

"I – uh." Eloquently put.

"And I get it," Ryan continued, saying this all as he stared lazily up at the ceiling. "I'm the first gay guy you've ever met. You told me as much. And we get along really well as friends. We have similar interests. And it's going to sound vain, but I know I'm attractive. You came out to me… that means a lot, emotionally… and I like you too."

Kurt took a sharp intake of breath. He hadn't expected that. Wanted it, yes. Expected, well, never. Because Ryan was amazing, charming, and handsome. Kurt found himself awkward-looking and usually snippy.

Ryan was looking at him now, rather than the ceiling, and rather intensely. Ryan sighed. "But it doesn't work out well… see, you're just going into your sophomore year in _high school_ and I'm starting at Julliard in September. We live in different states now and we will then."

"And I'm leaving in two days," Kurt said.

"And you're leaving in two days," Ryan reiterated. "I want to keep being you're friend, Kurt Hummel, even after you leave here."

"So, you're saying we should just ignore it?" Kurt said, carefully, after a gulp to get this throat going away.

"I'm sorry if I'm breaking your heart a little bit right now," Ryan said. "It just the only way I can really see this going."

They went their separate ways not that much later. Kurt spent the rest of the day despondent and contemplating his fate. A guy he liked was actually gay and actually liked him back, and yet here he was, still single.

…

He stabbed at his spinach salad, fairly appetite-less. Across the dining room, Kurt could see the back of Ryan's tribly-wearing head as he ate with his family. Ryan, the best friend and confidant he ever had, who this very day had told him he reciprocated Kurt's feelings, but wasn't going to do anything about it. It was a mild form of torture.

"You okay, Kurt?" his dad asked of him.

Kurt shrugged. It was too complicated to answer with a yes or no.

"You have a fight with your friend?" he asked.

Kurt glanced sharply up at his dad, who seemed to have read him in a second.

"You keep looking over that way and sighing all dejected," Burt explained. "You two have a fight?"

"Not exactly," Kurt said. "It's complicated."

Burt cleared his throat heavily. "You know you can, um, come to me about anything. Like, you're a teenager now and there's a lot more problems you can find yourself in, lot more dangerous stuff, lot more scary stuff. I remember being in high school. And well, I don't want you to not talk to me about it because you're afraid of the consequences."

"Dad—" Kurt started. What could he say in return to his father making it clear, the other that no matter Kurt's troubles, he could bring them to his father. He didn't have to worry about being rejected.

"Thanks," Kurt said, his voice clogged with held back emotion. He glanced around the room. They were seated along the wall and no was currently seated close enough to overhear them. "There is something I wanted to tell you. It's not bad. Not really. But it's still… hard."

"When I said anything, I meant anything."

Kurt gnawed at his lip, and then took a heavy breath that seemed to lift the weight of the moment off of him.

"I'm gay," Kurt said.

Burt nodded, and Kurt didn't think he was breathing. "I've expected you to say that since you talked about Ryan earlier this week. Well, I've been expecting it since you asked for heals for your third birthday."

Kurt choked out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "You knew?"

"I suspected. But why does it matter. You're my son, and I still love you."

…

Kurt pressed the buttons on his cell phone with shaking hands.

"What's up, Kurt?" came Ryan's cheery voice as he answered the call.

"I told him," Kurt said, breathy. "My dad. I came out. And it went really well."

"Oh my god, that's great. Can you meet in the storage room right now?"

"Yes," Kurt breathed, the hurt of Ryan's previous rejection salved by this newer accomplishment. He was hanging up and rushing through the hallways to _their _place at the same time.

And then he was there and so was Ryan, who pulled him into one of those hugs that was all-consuming and made it seem like the world couldn't touch them at that moment.

It was simultaneous, after that, stepping back, but not far.

"I know what it's like," Ryan said, "And what you just did was so brave."

"Well, I just had the best support in the world," Kurt said with a grin.

"God, Kurt, you're amazing."

And Kurt swore that they were going to kiss. But they didn't. And in the elation that evening, he found himself not that disappointed.

…

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," Kurt said. It was late. Dark out in the middle of the summer, so at least past nine, though Kurt wasn't studiously watching the time. He didn't want to leave.

"I know. I hadn't said anything all day, but I know." Ryan kicked his feet in the water. The two of them were sitting on the cement edge of the pool, empty of everyone except them.

"We won't see each other again," Kurt said, his hands gripped on the edge of the pull anxiously.

"You don't know that," Ryan said lightly. "When I get famous I'll give you free tickets to one of my shows."

"Or visa versa," Kurt tacked on.

"Or that, but I got a few years head start, so…"

The crickets were a chorus surrounding them. It was the only noise. Suddenly, Ryan's hand was on top of his.

"I'm going to miss you," Kurt said. "You're the best person I've ever met."

"You think too much of me," Ryan said, but didn't sound disappointed. He squeezed Kurt's hand.

"I'm _really_ going to miss you," Kurt said again.

Ryan sighed and said, "I've trying to think of a perfect parting gift for you, and I know I have it now." He titled Kurt's face toward his with fingertips under his chin. Kurt stared at him wide-eyed. He knew where this was going.

Ryan lowered his head to make himself level with Kurt and then filled the gap between them, slotting their lips together. It was short and chaste, but in many ways, it was the perfect first kiss, without presumptions and just an expression of honest feelings.

"You deserved a first kiss from someone you like and someone who really cares about you back. Not all of us are that lucky," Ryan said, when they parted.

There wasn't a proper response.

…

The two of them kept in contact, though didn't pursue anything like a romantic relationship. It probably wouldn't have worked out with the combination of age difference and long distance. They kept close as friends, however, over email, texting, and video calls. Ryan had been there for Kurt to relate his new glee club drama to, to pine over Finn, to cry over his father's coma and celebrate when he woke up. He had been there when the bullying escalated, although he admitted he didn't have much experience with the issue. "Like I said before, having an intimidating sister and rich parents helped with that."

He had also been there when Kurt told him about meeting a guy named Blaine at new direction's sectionals competition, the lead singer from an opposing glee club.

…

When they were walking back to the theater, Rachel intentionally pulled Blaine along, despite any of his hesitance, into a conversation with her several paces ahead.

"He's really cute," Ryan said.

"I know," Kurt said, pleased.

"You seem a lot happier," Ryan said next, more serious.

"Then when?" Kurt asked.

"Then when I met you. I mean, I know we've kept in contact since then, but its different seeing someone in person."

"Hmm."

"And well, you seem a lot happier. I'm glad."

"You were a part of that, even though we haven't seen each other person. You gave me the courage to come out to my dad, and you were there to support me even if it was over the phone. In many ways, you were and are my best friend."

"Well, I'm just glad you have best friends that can be there for you in person now. They're both great."

"Crazy, but definitely great."

The group of them stopped at a sidewalk corner, the farthest they could go in the same direction.

"Well, it was great you meet you guys," Ryan said to Rachel and Blaine.

"It was great for to share your performing knowledge," Rachel said quite seriously, shaking Ryan's hand vigorously.

"And for being Kurt's friend all these years," Blaine said. "He deserves good friends."

"We can agree on that," Ryan said. They shook hands. Kurt was pleased that the two of them get along, like he knew they would. He was a lucky guy, Kurt, a supportive dad, two great best friends, and a wonderful boyfriend. He doesn't know what else he could want.

* * *

><p>Would it be bad to say that I wrote this with last November and just now got the gumption to edit and post it? Yes. Yes. It probably would.<p> 


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